Sherlock- How You Remind Me
by truthseeker97
Summary: Sherlock! Based on the BBC series with Benedict Cumberbatch. A new game of murder is played. A teenage girl, orphaned, comes to live with Sherlock and John. When her life gets put in danger when she gets involved with the game, can Sherlock save her and find the killer? Contains self harm, eating disorders, and possible suicidal thoughts. Bad summary- but give it a chance! OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note- So I'm becoming obsessed with Sherlock from the BBC so I thought I'd write my own fanfictions on it! Please leave a review if you liked it or loved it!**

**There will be self harm in this, and maybe eating disorders and that sort of thing, just to warn you.**

_Italics are thoughts._

**Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock, but I own the storyline and Lucy. Yes! I know! I'm using my own name again! But why not? She doesn't have the same last name as me though! Let's say Lucy is fifteen in this shall we? Okay then! On with the show!**

Chapter 1- A new game

"I'm bored." He moaned. A moment's silence. "I'm bored." Another silence.

Sherlock sat on the armchair with his elbows on his knees and his hands steepled as they usually were when he was thinking. But right now he wasn't thinking about much, and that bored him. He had no new cases to work on as anyone who came to him and John seemed absolutely dull, and it would be a waste of time to work on dull cases.

"John can I borrow your laptop?" He said. Silence. Sherlock huffed in annoyance. John had gone out and had been out for exactly thirty seven minutes- apparently he had gone to get some shopping as they were out of milk and therefore unable to make tea. And not being able to make tea was sacrilege. _Why had he been gone for so long?_ Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to solve this small puzzle, but it was pointless. Inevitably so, as he knew full well that John took his debit card without knowing the pin, so he was therefore unable to use it to pay for what little he needed to buy; so he then either went outside feeling embarrassed and withdrew some money or just decided to go back home. Most likely he had gotten some more money out otherwise he would have returned ages ago. He didn't have any money in his wallet as he wouldn't have otherwise asked to borrow Sherlock's debit card, also he spent his money on taking his girlfriend out the other day whom proceeded to dump him the next day for another man, ooh harsh. Sherlock groaned aloud, see? Now he was trying to make a big thing out of a shopping trip that was taking too long. But he would do anything to cure his boredom. He would even shoot his wall if it meant he would have something to do, but Mrs Hudson forbade it. Sherlock actually wanted to have a look on John's laptop to see if there was anything to write about on his website or just to look at any unsolved crimes that may need his assistance. Yes, Sherlock was undeniably bored.

A subtle squeak of a door swinging open signalled John's arrival.

"Sherlock," He began as he dumped the small bag of items on the kitchen table, "You never..."

"I never told you my pin number, yes I know John, I guessed that seconds after you left." Sherlock interrupted. John stood there, staring at his flatmate.

"You knew... and you couldn't be bothered to ring me?" John said incredulously.

"My mobile is on the table there, I couldn't be bothered to go get it." Sherlock muttered.

"You are unbelievable." John shook his head as he started to make himself and Sherlock a hot drink.

An hour or so later, Sherlock's mobile started to buzz on the table. He glanced down at it, seeming to debate in his head whether or not to answer it. The screen said that it was Lestrade who was calling. With great effort, Sherlock picked it up and answered.

"Lestrade, got anything fun?"

"As a matter of fact Sherlock, I could do with you coming down and having a look at a crime scene for us." The voice on the other end answered. Sherlock was silent, debating whether or not it was worth his time. Lestrade continued to fill the consulting detective in: "There's been a murder; a man killed in his apartment no more than a couple of hours ago. No-one heard anything; no-one saw anything... But we want you to have a look around the place. So far, we have nothing."

"The police really are clueless aren't they? Is Anderson there?"

"What would it matter if he is?" Lestrade sounded confused.

"His presence annoys me."

"Just come Sherlock."

After hanging up, John looked at his friend.

"Are you going?"

"Might as well."

"Might as well?" John repeated.

"I'm bored, I have nothing else to do and you're coming with me."

They were clueless; utterly clueless. It was most likely due to the fact that Anderson was there, distracting everyone from living their own lives and in effect, lowering the IQ of the whole of London. So far they had barely any clues; the only thing they found was a rather curious set of scratch marks that formed a word on the wallpaper. Sherlock could now see why they were anxious for him to take a look around. The word on the wallpaper read 'Sherlock.' _Well aren't I popular,_ Sherlock thought sarcastically as he stared at it with a blank face.

"Any idea why they scratched your name on the wall?" Asked John, who was a little shocked at the sight.

"They obviously wanted me." The detective muttered, then he spoke louder, "But the killer didn't write it himself."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade queried, frowning as he and the others on the crime scene turned to stare at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. Wasn't it obvious?

"The man's fingernails," he said impatiently, "Look!" They followed his orders, "There are flakes from the wallpaper under his fingernails, also, if you haven't already noticed- he is right handed."

"And how the bloody hell do you know he's right handed?" Anderson exclaimed. Sherlock huffed and glared at his idiocy.

"There is more wallpaper under his right hand's nails than there are on his left. Also, you can see that his nails on his right hand are shorter from where he scratched away to make the words."

"Then why is there wallpaper under his left hand?" Anderson narrowed his eyes. Sherlock turned to glare at him again, this was really wasting his time and to be honest, which hand he wrote with was of no importance.

"For goodness sake Anderson you really are stupid aren't you?"

"Sherlock," John warned.

"He has paper under his left hand from where he finished scratching with his left. His nails are too short on the right to scratch away anymore and I suspect he was held at gunpoint and forced to do this, so rather than get a knife he simply switched hands- which would also explain why the last three letters are shakier than the rest." Sherlock breathed in and looked on in amusement at the idiot in front of him. "Can you leave now Anderson." It was an order, not a question.

"Why?" He said angrily, "You are so up yourself Sherlock."

"I need to concentrate and you are annoying me and distracting everyone in the room from doing their jobs. So leave." The corners of the detective's mouth lifted slightly when Lestrade led the idiot out of the room.

Afterwards, Sherlock examined the dead man's body for clues to how he died. There were cuts all up his arms, all of which were fresh. A particularly deep one went across his neck and wrists where the main veins and arteries lie.

"A self harmer?" John said.

"No." Sherlock muttered, he frowned and looked closer.

"How do you know?"

"It doesn't seem right; there are no scars, no older cuts." Sherlock sighed, "He was killed."

"Do you have the evidence for that?" Lestrade questioned calmly.

"No," Sherlock said again. Then he started muttering, just loud enough so that they could hear him, "This killer is clever, very clever. He's left no traces whatsoever of him ever being here. No evidence to support what I say. We are dealing with someone who has experience in knowing how to pull something off with no-one noticing, and has the experience to make sure he remains completely unknown. All we have to go by is the fact that he wanted me. He made the victim scratch out my name on the wall. We also know he used a knife to kill the victim."

"But what if the victim committed suicide?" Lestrade said.

"He didn't. It doesn't explain why he would write my name. He hasn't left a note." Sherlock murmured.

"Everything points to that conclusion though," Lestrade sighed, "Even the knife was found in his hand, we are getting fingerprint analysis later. But there is nothing to really prove otherwise."

"But it wasn't a suicide!" Sherlock told him firmly.

"Well, we will have to see if it happens again. Next time there may be more evidence." Lestrade shrugged.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair back at 221b Baker Street the next day. John was due to return from his work at the surgery any time now. For most of the day, Sherlock had been pondering over the murder. Nothing added up. None of it made sense. And it frustrated him to know that there was no way yet of proving his point. He knew it wasn't a suicide, he knew it was murder. But he wasn't sure how. He was just anxiously awaiting the next murder to take place. Not a moment later, Sherlock could hear footsteps from downstairs. He paused, listening to the conversation. Mrs Hudson was talking to John, but there was someone else. A girl. She sounded young- no older than fifteen maybe. He frowned in confusion and listened, wondering what John was doing bringing a young teenager home.

"Poor thing," Mrs Hudson said motherly.

"So that's why we didn't want her staying on the streets." John murmured, "Too dangerous. She came into the surgery today, not really sure what to say or how to explain her situation." He seemed to be talking very gently, as the girl was with him and he apparently didn't want to upset her. "We knew her family had... passed away, but we didn't realise she was sleeping rough until she came in today. She had gotten badly beaten by a stranger last night who took her phone; he left bruises on her stomach. He had a knife and slashed at her stomach as well, not too deeply mind, but I made sure it was clean."

"Oh sweetie," Mrs Hudson said sympathetically. John carried on talking but in a much quieter voice, Sherlock was unable to hear what was being said. He caught a few words here and there though:

"Can't leave her... too dangerous... has no-one... just for a while..." Sherlock frowned, unsure what to make of the situation.

"What about Sherlock?" He suddenly heard his name being mentioned by his landlady.

"I've told her about him," John said with a tiny smile in his voice, "I just hope he won't be rude or... his usual self to her." Sherlock rolled his eyes with indignation, "I hope he won't mind, if he really isn't happy with it then we will sort something out." A pause in which he turned to the girl, "There's no need to worry though." He said gently.

"Thank you," Sherlock heard the girl murmur quietly, "I'm so sorry for all of this... you shouldn't be doing this..."

"Hey, it was me who suggested and made you do it, so don't blame yourself." John reassured her, "Shall we go face Mr Holmes?" There was a hint of a joking smile in his voice.

"Okay..." The girl sounded... scared? Nervous? Of him? Sherlock wondered what on earth John told her about him. "Nice to have met you Mrs Hudson, thank you for this."

Sherlock turned to look at the door expectantly. The footsteps on the stair case sounded closer and closer. John opened the door, glancing back to smile encouragingly at the youngster. She stepped into the room, her step was measured and cautious and she seemed extremely nervous and anxious and unsure of everything. It seemed to have happened quickly for her and she was scared; but obviously so, after all, she had just entered a house with two complete strangers one of which being a doctor, the other a self proclaimed highly functioning sociopath. But the girl was young, and Sherlock knew that she was definitely around the age of fifteen. Her dark brown hair hung a little past her shoulders and her green eyes were clouded with worry. It was a shame, she was pretty. Sherlock surprised even himself by thinking that... but she was. As her eyes wandered around the apartment Sherlock studied her. She was around five foot five, and incredibly slim with long sleeved clothes that were in a fairly good condition. On her back she carried a backpack. As her eyes met his, he saw the worry and scaredness flare up again, and he calmed his usually intensive gaze. He knew she had been through alot- that much was obvious. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her even further. After all, she seemed like a lovely girl- but he would have to get to know her more first. He mentally slapped himself, why was he feeling all of this? Feeling... sympathy for her? It was unheard of in the world of Sherlock Holmes. But he felt different looking at her- not in a weird way of course. He couldn't put a finger on it; and he didn't like that fact. But the girl smiled tentatively at him- it was a small smile, one that only just reached her eyes as she made an effort to be friendly and polite. Sherlock returned it with a small one of his own which immediately seemed to reassure the teenager just slightly.

"Sherlock..." John started to speak.

"Yes John I already know, I heard most of what was said downstairs." Sherlock interrupted, "She is a teenager of age fifteen who is orphaned. She used to live on the street but got attacked last night and badly hurt; she came to you at the surgery where you proceeded to attend to her stomach. Unable to leave her to fend for herself again you decided to take her back here in the hopes that she could stay for a while. Or stay for as long as I want her to." Sherlock smirked; the girl looked at him in wonder. "But you seem scared," He turned to the teen, "Scared of me perhaps? I'm not sure what John told you, but apparently he didn't exactly paint a pretty picture of happiness and smiles and normality. You aren't expecting to really stay as neither of you are sure whether I would even be bothered with wanting a teenager here."

"Sherlock..." John said in warning.

"Relax John," Sherlock rolled his eyes. With great effort, Sherlock stood up and held his hand out to the teenager.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said with the famous Sherlock smirk.

"Lucy Patterson," she said as she grasped his hand and shook it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note- Thank you all so much for the reviews! They really mean alot and they make my day! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, I do apologise, but I noticed a few spelling errors in the previous chapter (I've sorted them out now). This story- like all of my others is unbeta-ed- so on a few rare occasions there may be one or two mistakes- but I do my best to keep it as it should be. Sometimes I find it hard concentrating when reading through so I miss things... Oh and for the sake of the story there are going to be three bedrooms. Lucy's is next to Sherlock's and John's is upstairs.**

**Disclaimer- I only own Lucy and an empty mug of coffee that I drunk, nothing else unfortunately... **

Chapter 2

Lucy listened to John in fascination as he recounted stories to her of his time with Sherlock and the many cases they had solved. The teenager found it all very interesting and was absolutely awe-struck at how intelligent Sherlock was to be able to deduce so many things with one look. Throughout, Sherlock had been paying close attention to Lucy. Something drew him to her, and he wasn't really sure why- maybe she was intelligent? But there was something about her that Sherlock liked, and Sherlock didn't 'like' people easily. In fact, the consulting detective only really considered himself to have a couple of friends. Obviously John was his best friend, but he also liked Mrs Hudson and Molly a great deal; but even so, it had taken a while to warm to them for him to actually class them as friends rather than just people he knew. Looking at the fifteen year old again, he frowned; she live on the street yet her clothes were extremely well looked after- and she smelt good (presumably she got to shower at those special places for the homeless.) Actually, he noticed, her clothes looked virtually brand new and her large bag (no doubtedly filled with her belongings) was in pretty good nick as well. Frowning he began to deduce in his mind.

_Well her clothes appear to be in very good condition and they obviously weren't given to her. Why weren't they given to her? Because if she had friends or family they would guess without a doubt that she was living on her own- so she doesn't have anyone to give her clothes or items. So she must have bought them herself as these clothes haven't been thrown away. How has she acquired this money? Well quite obviously her parents died- most likely they left behind a decent cash sum or at least some money and Lucy was then able to look after herself. However, she wouldn't be able to get a house as she is too young to take out a loan at the bank and far too young to even live on her own. Obviously she hasn't wanted to get found and go to a fostering or adoption agency, so she has had to live on the streets and buy herself the things she needs with whatever is in her parent's accounts. Why wouldn't she make her life better by getting fostered? Well it's clear she has fairly bad anxiety, I can tell by the way she wrung her hands while her eyes darted around nervously when she entered the room. I could also see her breath was slightly shaky as though she was trying to calm herself. So perhaps she was too anxious to go to social services- it's the fight or flight instinct. Considering all that she's been through she most likely has depression, that much is obvious by the way she looks- empty, sad and lonely. Her smile only just reaches her eyes and it's apparent that she tries to cover it up. But there's something else... She was slim. No, scratch that, she was skinny, incredibly so and perhaps even unhealthily so. But then again, she could be naturally like that- however, no-one looks that skinny naturally. She didn't look ill from it, but even Sherlock knew that it wasn't exactly normal of a girl of her age. After all, she had the money to eat, but maybe the depression and anxiety affected her appetite..._

The detective leaned back against his chair just as John finished talking to Lucy about whatever it was he had been banging on about. Both the doctor and the girl turned to look at him; Sherlock raised his eyebrows and gave them a 'what are you looking at me for?' look.

"Didn't you hear me Sherlock?" John asked slowly.

"Oh, were you talking to me? I wasn't paying attention to you." Sherlock shrugged. John just rolled his eyes.

"I said, is it okay for Lucy to stay?" His voice sounded nervous with anticipation at what the answer may be.

"Hmm?" Sherlock thought he had already made his answer clear, "Yeah sure." They both looked surprised- John looked more surprised though. Sherlock wasn't one to spend time messing around with children- but Lucy seemed different; after all she wasn't exactly a child. But even so, he actually kind of liked her- maybe he would change his mind in a few days- most likely he wouldn't though. It was the same feeling he got when he first met John, he instantly knew that they would get on well together- and as per usual- he was right. So chances are– because he is always right- he would get on the same with Lucy. This is unusual, because Sherlock rarely gets on with anyone like he does with John, let alone a fifteen year old...

"I can stay?" Lucy said surprised. After all, he was pretty much a stranger to her. Once again, Sherlock snapped out of his own little world and absentmindedly nodded his confirmation. "Thank you so much Mr Holmes." Lucy smiled properly for the first time. At this, Sherlock himself had to smile a bit.

"First things first though," he started, "Please call me Sherlock."

John shortly afterwards decided to give Lucy a tour of the apartment where he proceeded to show her where her room was.

"So this will be your room," John said kindly as they came to a stop. "Your room is next to Sherlock's," he gestured to the left of him, "Shall we go in?"

"It's a lovely room," Lucy commented as she looked around before laying her bag on the bed. She sat on the bed with a sigh, a frown was on her face and she looked worried. Noticing this, John came to sit beside her.

"Are you okay?" He asked gently, knowing that this was all very sudden for the young girl.

"I guess..." Lucy sighed and brushed away a few tears that humiliated her, "This morning, I was injured on the streets. Now I'm in the house of my doctor and his detective flatmate. I don't know how this happened. It's all been so sudden, out of the blue. It's kind of overwhelming; I don't really know what to do. I mean, you and Sherlock are complete strangers, and yet you are letting me live with you... I don't get it." She sounded so confused and overwhelmed.

"I think it really has overwhelmed you Lucy," John put a hand on her shoulder in comfort, "I only knew your parents because I was their doctor. But even so, I'm not having you on the streets. Sherlock and I like you, bearing in mind that Sherlock has been completely different with you which is kinda scary," They both grinned at this. "I promise you, I have no ulterior motive, and I know this seems strange- but things are going to be okay from now on."

"Thank you John, I'm serious, thank you so much for everything." Lucy smiled at him genuinely.

"I'm here if you ever need me." John told her. Lucy nodded. "I'll leave you to unpack," John left her alone to her thoughts.

"Dull dull dull dull dull!" Sherlock moaned. John and Lucy looked up at him with confused faces, although John was quite used to it. "I'm bored." Sherlock groaned. "Pass me my phone please?" He looked at Lucy.

"It's only on the table beside you!" She said bemused.

"It's effort getting it." He muttered. Sighing, Lucy stood up and retrieved his iphone from table and handed it to him. She actually found it rather amusing, and she chuckled lightly- for the first time in ages she actually laughed! She even surprised herself by this. And she began to think that living with Sherlock and John may actually be really good.

"Thanks," Sherlock muttered, his greeny-blue eyes shining.

"You hardly ever say 'thanks' to me," John grumbled.

"Stop being so jealous John, maybe I don't feel like saying it to you." The detective quipped.

"Me? I'm not jealous! You are so rude," The doctor joked frustrated, but he pretended to be hurt. Sherlock decided to ignore him and instead, looked at the text message he'd just received:

I think you'll rather enjoy this game.

It had no I.D; it was untraceable and was from an unknown number. Sherlock frowned. _Game? What game?_ He thought. But his eyes widened. Not a moment later, his mobile started ringing. The caller I.D was Lestrade.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note- Thank you to those who have favourited, followed and reviewed my story! It really means alot and gives me the motivation to write! So please, leave a review if you are enjoying it so far. I should mention that I'm doing GCSE's at school, so I will try and update as much as possible.**

**Disclaimer- I unfortunately do not own Sherlock Holmes; much to my dismay.**

Chapter 3

"The police are always out of their depth," Sherlock muttered to himself as he answered the call, "Where was the body found?" he asked, already knowing why Lestrade was calling.

"At another flat," Lestrade replied, "Looks like another suicide."

"The first wasn't a suicide!" Sherlock said exasperated. "It's so blatantly obvious!"

"Well, we would still like you to have a look at this body."

"Only because I'm always right." Sherlock said, and then paused as he got the address. "Oh, wait! Lestrade!" Sherlock suddenly said as though he'd just remembered something, "I'm going to have another friend accompany me, so you know."

"Sherlock..." the man started hesitantly.

"You allow John to come. You will allow Lucy to come if you want any help."

"Fine Sherlock," Lestrade gave in, although he seemed surprised that he wanted a girl to come along, "Only because we need you."

"The police always need me." Sherlock replied smugly as he hung up.

John had previously explained to Lucy what the case was about, but even he was surprised when he heard Sherlock say he wanted Lucy there. The consulting detective wasn't one to want lots of people around when working; but the icing on the cake was when he called Lucy his 'friend.' John guessed it was to convince D.I Lestrade, but Sherlock wasn't the sort to use that word much. After all, it did take him a while to even call John his friend. But the doctor brushed it off and ignored it.

Sherlock stood suddenly, grabbing his wool cape coat and scarf.

"Well?" He looked at John and Lucy expectantly as he put on his clothing.

"Huh?" The doctor made a noise of confusion. Sherlock huffed.

"Weren't you listening? We have another murder!" Sherlock's eyes lit up as he grinned.

"Lestrade says it's a suicide." John muttered.

"Yes, but when is Lestrade ever right?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well come on, we need to go." John got up to grab his jacket, however Lucy remained seated. Sherlock frowned slightly at her, "Are you ready to go?"

"You sure you want me coming? You have only just met me..." Lucy seemed extremely uncertain.

"Of course, you can't beat a good murder!" Sherlock told her happily, "It's better than sitting here watching stupid telly all day."

"If you're sure then," Lucy smiled, "I've never been to a crime scene." She disappeared into her room and reappeared wearing a black jacket that nice went with her black skinny jeans and band t-shirt. As soon as John came back wearing his jacket, Sherlock darted off downstairs. The two watched him with fascination.

"Is he always like this?" Lucy asked laughing.

"You get used to it."

Lucy and John took off after Sherlock and found him waiting for them as he held the front door open. "Hurry up." He said impatiently. "It's not far from here, just a quick taxi ride." The three ran into the road and proceeded to catch a taxi together.

The street outside the flat was quiet and mostly deserted apart from the police. The sun was just beginning to dip below as late afternoon approached- which meant a murder in broad daylight. Police tape separated the outside world from what had happened mere hours earlier, with police cars with flashing blue lights behind. Officers stood by; examining the area for any signs that it could have been a murder. With Sherlock in the lead slightly, the trio walked towards where Sergeant Donovan stood in charge of keeping people out of the crime scene.

"Oh great," She said sarcastically as they approached, "The freak's here." Sherlock shot her a cold glare as she then said, "And he's brought along a teenager. My, my Sherlock, bit young for you." She laughed at him, from just behind her, Anderson overheard and snickered.

"Let us through." The consulting detective demanded, already annoyed enough at her childish behaviour.

"Why would I do that?"

"Really you two," John interrupted before it escalated, "Let's not start here." Sally rolled her eyes and lifted the tape.

"Why have you brought her with you?" She asked as she nodded at Lucy.

"Because she's with me..." Sherlock then realised what he had implied and immediately corrected himself, "She's staying with us back home, and Lestrade has allowed her to come; so if you don't mind." He then barged past her with Lucy and John following. "Out of my way Anderson," Sherlock muttered as they approached the door. Anderson decided to ignore him and speak to Lucy:

"A word of advice kid, don't get caught up with him. He's a freak. He's no good to you, you're best to stay out of his way. You don't know what he's like." Sherlock winced at the harsh words. But he glanced to see Lucy's reaction, _not that it matters, _he told himself; but deep down he wanted to be at least somewhat liked.

"I think I'm capable of making my own judgements without rude opinions," Lucy suddenly said, slightly coldly yet politely. Anderson looked taken aback, but shrugged:

"Don't say you haven't been warned."

As they all descended the stairs, Sherlock looked back at the teenager.

"Thanks," he murmured to her.

"What for?" She looked surprised.

"For what you said to Anderson," he offered her a small smile- she returned it as they came to a stop inside the room of the murder. No-one apart from John had ever stood up for him, he was expecting Lucy to believe all that he said and then act the way Anderson and Donovan do to him. But no, she stood up for him; she ignored all that Anderson said. And Sherlock was surprised- happily so, maybe he was right about her.

The flat was of a decent size, with a particularly large living room. The walls were coloured in light pain that was colour co-ordinated with the furniture. Everything was perfect, neatly arranged, tidy, and from the decor it was definitely the home of a woman. Sherlock's sharp eyes took in every detail. Lestrade, John and Lucy watched him as he took a look around. Finally, he reached the woman's body in the middle of the living room, he frowned and bent down. It was the same as before; a cut on the neck and wrists causing her to bleed to her death. The woman's hand was clenched, with a gloved hand, Sherlock opened it. Inside, scrunched up, was a note. When the other people in the room started talking to themselves, Sherlock took a quick look. Once again, it was the same as before.

Sherlock.

Just one word- his name- nothing else. _But why? _Sherlock knew it wasn't a suicide, but the killer wasn't making it easy for him; Sherlock grinned, he didn't do easy.

"Got anything Sherlock?" Greg Lestrade queried as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Of course," the detective said as he stood up, "This is a woman; obviously, who only recently returned from a day out- you can tell by the way she's dressed in a woman's suit with make-up that she is most likely a business woman; and an important one at that. She likes things to be neat and tidy and appears to have slight OCD, which is blatantly obvious as everything in this room is perfectly in line with each other, all the mugs on the side have their handles facing the same way, and all the unused plugs are switched off. Also, everything on that table there- the pens, the paper, the coaster- it's all in line with the edge of the table. She is quite clearly seeing a psychiatrist judging by the medicine in her cupboard, but she rarely takes them as there are several unopened packets that have been collected from almost a year ago. However, contrary to your belief Lestrade, she was murdered." Sherlock concluded with a flourish.

"That was phenomenal!" Lucy murmured, amazed at the man before her. Sherlock turned to her in surprise, John smiled as she reacted in a similar way to him when he first heard Sherlock and his deductions.

"You think so?" Once again, Sherlock looked at her in slight disbelief- John was the only one who had ever been really impressed.

"Are you kidding?" Lucy grinned, awestruck, "It was bloody brilliant!"

"Oh, thank you," Sherlock flashed a happy smile at the compliment he was so unused to receiving.

"Yes, yes" Lestrade started to speak, "It's all good. But you can't prove it was a murder! Once again, we think it's just a coincidental suicide. We found a kitchen knife beside her covered in blood."

"A suicide committed in the exact same way?" The detective raised an eyebrow.

"You have proof otherwise?" The D.I sighed.

"I know it wasn't." Sherlock said as though that was enough evidence alone.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but we need proof." Lestrade said.

"If it carries on, and you haven't been listening, it will be your fault," Sherlock snapped frustrated. There was a moment of silence, no-one knowing what to say.

"It wasn't a suicide," Lucy suddenly said. All eyes turned to her in shock at her contribution. "I know I'm just a fifteen year old girl, but I know that wasn't a suicide." Sherlock was faintly impressed, but he was curious:

"What makes you say that?" Both Sherlock and Lestrade asked at the same time. They looked at each other, then back to Lucy.

"Well, this murderer is quite clever," she said taking a few steps to look closer at the cuts on the woman's neck and wrists, "But there's just one thing he's forgotten... Those cuts aren't self-inflicted." She looked at them confidently.

"How can you tell?" Greg asked her incredulously.

"It's a slight difference; the knife should make a clean cut if self-inflicted, nice and simple. But these cuts are different. They're jagged, that shows a slight struggle before she became too weak, it shows that someone else cut her by the way the cut is shaped. If it was herself, they would be cleaner and straighter. Also, why kill yourself in the middle of your living room? Most people would do it in a bath tub full of water..." She finished talking and looked up at their surprised faces with a small smile.

"Wow," John said.

"That was pretty impressive," Sherlock murmured, for once someone else's intelligence surprised him.

"How do you know all of that?" Lestrade was wide-eyed. Lucy shrugged in response.

"Trust me," she said, "I know what I'm talking about."

Sherlock was amazed; she had helped him to convince the police with surprising knowledge. But it actually concerned both him and John: how on earth did she know that much about cuts? And self-inflicted ones? Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of it, and neither he nor John asked her right away. They of course wanted to know how she acquired this knowledge, but something told Sherlock that perhaps now wasn't the time to ask those questions.

But now Sherlock had his proof.

The game is on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note- thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows! It really means a lot to me, so please leave a little review if you like it. And I'll try not to leave you waiting too long for the next chapter!**

**Oh, as a warning, there will probably be some slightly graphic self-harm content towards the end.**

**Disclaimer- I surprisingly don't own anything if you haven't already figured it out.**

Chapter 4

"Dinner anyone?" John suggested as they started to walk back down the stairs to the exit of the flat. The night sky outside was dark, and it was around seven o'clock. Stars glinted slightly as a sharp, cold breeze whistled through the trees.

"If you want," Sherlock shrugged, never being bothered by food whatsoever.

"Lucy?" John turned to her. She didn't look over the moon at the mention of food, but wanted to appear normal she replied:

"Sure."

They soon found themselves sitting in Angelo's restaurant a few minutes later; John smiled as he recalled the last time he and Sherlock were here during the case of 'A Study in Pink.' After ordering their food- John's being a pasta dish, Lucy's being a small salad and Sherlock's obviously being nothing- they started to chat about Lucy.

"So how did your parents die?" Sherlock suddenly asked, very much out of the blue. The sudden question shocked Lucy as she stared at him with wide eyes for a moment. Sherlock didn't appear to understand what was so shocking about his question, but he assumed that it was down to emotions, or whatever John called it.

"Sherlock," John hissed his name in warning, as he didn't want to upset the teen. Seeming to have recovered from the initial shock of the query, Lucy bit her cheek and dug her nails into the palm of her hand to control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

"No, no, it's all right," she muttered to John, attempting to put on a brave face. Lucy guessed that the consulting detective was just trying to understand her more- especially if they were going to be living together. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she started to tell them the story. John, who had known her parents fairly well, was interested and a bit surprised to hear all of this; as he had never known how they had died. "Well, it was around six months ago I guess. We were at home, just me, mum and dad. We weren't doing much at all, just watching a little TV. There was a knock at the door, so dad went to go answer it. After a good few minutes, mum started to get worried, we couldn't hear anyone talking so we were wondering where dad had gone. Five minutes went by of pure silence, then, out of nowhere, an ear piercing scream sounded from outside our house. Mum, thinking it was dad, bolted to the door. I was sitting there waiting. I could hear no-one speak. It was silent... too silent. In a panic, I moved as quietly as possible to the open door, in a position where I could see outside, but I was partially hidden from view. Before I had a chance to look- two loud gunshots rang out into the darkness of the night. Obviously I was frightened, and unsure of what was going on, so tentatively I peered around the side of the door." Lucy took a deep breath and rubbed her face as the terrifying night came back to her in a flood of memories. Amazingly, Sherlock had stayed quiet throughout her story, not interrupting- but carefully listening to her. "There was blood, so much blood all on the driveway and splatters on the pavement near where a sinister looking black Mercedes was parked. I didn't dare go outside. I was sat in my room crying, too scared, and too paralysed with fear to even will my body to move. I knew they were dead. The next morning I summoned the bravery to go outside; the Mercedes had vanished, and in its place was a single gun, and two bullet shells. And blood, a lot of blood. My parents were nowhere to be seen." Lucy bit back the tears, "Later that same day there was a thing on the news saying two bodies had been found in an abandoned warehouse, and if there was anyone who knew anything they were to contact the police immediately. Of course, I said I did. But I knew they would take me in if I told them they were my parents. So I lied and said I saw two bodies being dragged away. I was sent to identify the bodies, and they looked exactly like my parents, with a single bullet hole through each of their foreheads." Lucy shrugged as she ended her story. "They never caught the killer."

John could see that Sherlock so badly wanted to say something, but he gave his friend a look that told him not to voice his opinion or perception on the matter. Reaching a comforting hand onto the teenagers shoulder, he felt saddened when she flinched under his touch.

After that, the conversation changed to a much happier subject, as more tales of John and Sherlock's adventures were recounted. John wanted to distract Lucy from thinking too much about her parents- as it was clearly upsetting her- and Sherlock was more than happy to talk about just how brilliant his solutions were to the countless problems he had solved. The food was good, it always was- and Angelo still liked to give them free meals because of Sherlock so that was a bonus. But John was worried, he frowned as he looked at what little Lucy had eaten. Chances are that she wasn't hungry- the stress of the whole day may have just gotten to her, but John wasn't sure, but now wasn't the time to ask. Just as they were about to leave, Sherlock felt his phone vibrate with a text message. The detective frowned as he read the single line:

Are you and the girl enjoying my game?

_How on earth does the killer know about Lucy? Does that mean he is keeping tabs on us? _Sherlock's mind was a whirlwind of questions.

"Are you okay Sherlock?" John asked him, bringing his friend out of his own little world.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sherlock muttered as he pulled on his coat. He frowned slightly as he glanced down once again at the message before pocketing the phone and heading off to 221B Baker Street.

Walking up the stairs into their flat, Sherlock frowned slightly again. Someone else was in the house.

"What is it?" John asked when he saw Sherlock grab what appeared to be disinfectant from Mrs Hudson's cleaning supplies.

"Shh, someone's here." He whispered. Tiptoeing to the door, he waited; Sherlock took a breath before bursting into the room ready to spray disinfectant at the stranger. Lucy and John followed him, confusion on their faces at the heavy pause before:

"Mycroft?" Sherlock huffed loudly as he complained at his brother's presence. "What are you doing here?" Lucy didn't think that Sherlock sounded at all pleased at the person he so blatantly knew.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, lovely to see you dear brother," Mycroft drawled slightly sarcastically in that posh accent of his.

"Hey Mycroft," John greeted the older man with a nod as he and Lucy stepped into the room.

"John, good to see you." He said, "And this must be the teenager who is staying with you."

"How do you..." John was about to ask how when both he himself and Sherlock answered the question at the same time:

"Cameras."

"Of course," Mycroft smiled as though it was normal to have someone's flat rigged with hidden cameras. He turned back to Lucy, "Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother." He introduced himself as he held out a hand to the teenager.

"Lucy Patterson," she politely introduced herself as she grasped his hand firmly and shook it with a small smile.

"What are you doing here Mycroft?" Sherlock asked impatiently, seeming bored at the formalities.

"Just wanting to introduce myself to young Lucy," Sherlock's brother replied, unfazed by the detectives annoyance at him. "I saw she would be living here, so I thought I should meet her. Especially if she is becoming part of the family here at 221B."

"Family?" Sherlock frowned, "I wouldn't quite say that. They're my friends."

"Whatever," Mycroft shrugged, "They're as good as family to you- considering the way you can treat people." Sherlock glared at his brother.

"I have been very nice to Lucy," Sherlock told him.

"Really?" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. Apparently Sherlock wasn't usually nice to people.

"He actually has," John decided to interrupt before Sherlock got wound up, "They're quite a pair together." John smiled at them, "They've already managed to convince Lestrade together that the supposed suicides are actually murders."

"Have you now?" The older Holmes sounded surprised, "I thought Lestrade was dead set on them being suicides."

"Yeah, well," Sherlock started, "Lucy helped me to convince him otherwise. I couldn't have done it without her." He flashed the teenager a genuinely happy smile. His brother looked pleasantly surprised.

"Well in that case I'm glad," Mycroft sighed as he fiddled with his umbrella handle, "You need to have friends."

"Well I have two, John and Lucy."

"I'm surprised you are already calling her a friend."

"I like her. She's intelligent. I value that in a person, although John is an exception."

"Wait, what?" John looked offended.

"Oh you know what I mean John," Sherlock smiled at him, "You are mildly intelligent, if that makes you feel any better." John just grumbled to himself.

"Well I must be off dear brother, important business you know," he glanced at Lucy an informed her: "I occupy a minor role in the British Government."

"He practically is the British Government," Sherlock said.

"Nice meeting you Lucy," Mycroft said, ignoring Sherlock's comment that he had heard before when Sherlock told John about him, "Goodbye John. Look after yourself Sherlock."

"Goodbye," Lucy and John said.

"I so anxiously await your next visit Mycroft," Sherlock said with sarcasm dripping in his voice. Mycroft just shot him a look as he picked up his umbrella and left the trio alone.

Shortly after, Lucy decided to call it a night. In all honesty, she was actually rather tired from the day, and she wanted nothing more than to just go to her new room and think things over. It had been a hectic day after all. She bid goodnight to the boys and went to go to her room, just as she opened the door, John came up to her.

"Is everything okay?" Lucy asked him, wondering what he wanted.

"Yeah, I just wanted to say that... if you need me, for whatever reason during the night, or anytime in fact- don't be afraid to come and find me. You know my room is upstairs- so just knock on the door okay?" John smiled slightly at her.

"Thank you John," Lucy returned the smile, "I mean it, thank you for everything."

"No problem," John said. "Goodnight Lucy."

"Goodnight John," Lucy said as she went into her room.

That night, Lucy stayed awake for what seemed like forever. She couldn't sleep. She would just toss and turn, plagued with thoughts of her family. Everything had overwhelmed her, and she was struggling to cope. She was always struggling to cope. Unable to resist the overwhelming temptation any longer, Lucy reached out for her bag beside her bed. Opening one of the compartments, she withdrew a small box and some tissues. From inside the box, she took out a blade. A shiny silver razor blade that seemed to glint in the moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. Rolling back the long sleeves of her pyjama top, she looked at the numerous cuts and scars that littered her arms, telling a story with their red and white lines. They were wounds of pain, wounds of sadness and loss, wounds of all of the emotions she could no longer cope with. And this was the only way she could feel better.

Bringing the blade to the skin of her forearm, she cut, pressing down to create a fairly deep gash. Cut after cut after cut, the blade was drawn across her arm and tears streamed down her pale face. Trails of blood dripped from both of her arms, and she hastily cleaned up most of it with the tissues which soon became soaked from the red liquid. She sighed, relishing the buzz. As she put away her tools, she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her, and as she lay back, she let sleep consume her.

A piercing scream rang through the flat and awoke John from his sleep. In an instant he knew it was Lucy, most likely in the throes of a nightmare. He jumped out of bed and quickly made his way to Lucy's room, the screaming stopped as he neared her door- which to his surprise was open. Going inside, he was amazed to find Sherlock holding her, shaking her gently from sleep and out of the nightmare that tormented her. She was awake by the time John reached them, and she was crying. Tears streamed down her face and she held tightly onto Sherlock. John was surprised. Sherlock was the last person he thought he'd see comforting someone, the detective had one arm wrapped around the teenagers shoulders as he silently held her. It was obvious he was unsure what to say or do, but nonetheless, it was a sight to behold! Sherlock had moved onto the bed so he was lying on it- sitting up slightly- beside the upset girl.

"Are you alright Lucy?" John asked her gently as he sat on her bed.

"Nightmare," she said shakily as she attempted to calm herself. "I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!" She sounded so genuinely upset at the thought she had disturbed them that John's heart just broke to see her like this.

"Hey now, it's okay, don't worry. It doesn't bother me and I'm guessing that Sherlock was already awake." John comforted her, "What was the nightmare about?"

"Nothing important," she muttered, wiping away the tears that kept falling.

"Are you sure?" John frowned in concern. He touched the teenagers arm but quickly withdrew it as she flinched and jerked her arm away from the touch. John had, after all, just touched the fresh cuts that stung Lucy's arm. John decided to ignore her reaction, but couldn't help but glance at what appeared to be blood on her sleeve. "Are you okay?" He asked her, motioning to her arm, "What happened?" At his question, Lucy's face paled slightly, but she shrugged it off.

"Oh, that's nothing," she muttered, "Must have caught it or something..."

"Can I see?" John requested, "That looks like a bit of blood..."

"No! No it's fine," she said quickly, "It's okay."

"Well, if you're sure... tell me if it gets infected though..." John said softly, surprised at how defensive she was over her arm. Not knowing what to say about her wound, John sighed, as a doctor he obviously wanted to see it- but it was clear she didn't want him to take a look. So for now he would have to agree with what she was comfortable with. During this time, Sherlock had taken to absentmindedly stroking the teenager's soft brown hair.

"If you want, I could stay with you for a bit," John offered, not sure whether or not Sherlock would even consider staying much longer.

"I'll stay," Sherlock suddenly spoke for the first time, startling both John and Lucy. John was extremely surprised at what Sherlock had said, ever since Lucy had come, he had seemed to be a little different. John knew that he was putting some effort into appearing friendly to Lucy, although she already knew what he could be like. But even that response shocked him.

"Are you sure?" John asked Sherlock.

"Of course," the detective murmured as he got himself more comfortable.

"You really don't have to..." Lucy whispered, embarrassed that she had interrupted them with a silly nightmare.

"Get some sleep," Sherlock told her, before she had a chance to protest further. She sniffed and cuddled up against Sherlock's side. Sherlock didn't seem to know what to do again at the contact, but he settled for stroking her hair again.

"If you need me you know where I am," John said gently, "Goodnight both of you."

"Night," Lucy mumbled as he walked out of the door. After a brief pause she murmured, "Thank you Sherlock."

"For what?" The detective frowned.

"For staying with me and letting me stay here and for being nice to me," she said sleepily. Sherlock smiled a little.

"Come on now, get some rest," he murmured quietly as she drifted back off to a much more peaceful sleep in his arms.

From inside Sherlock's pocket, his phone vibrated and a text message popped up on the display screen:

Are you ready for the next part of my game?


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note- Thanks for the continued support guys! Please, leave a little review if you like it, as it really gives me the motivation to continue. I apologise for not updating recently, but a supposed 'friend' (as I mentioned on my Glee fanfic) has said some nasty stuff about my fan fictions and stories I write on here. It's really knocked my confidence a little. One complaint is the way I describe things, and the fact I use my name a lot- which I do because I find it better for me to use my emotions in that character. So I'm sorry if you don't like it...**

**Disclaimer- I don't own anything.**

Chapter 5

It was around nine in the morning when John woke up. As he got dressed he noted the fact that the flat was silent, very silent. No noise from Sherlock, or Lucy for that matter. Chances are that Sherlock didn't sleep at all last night- not an uncommon thing for him- but would he have stayed the whole night with Lucy? John very much doubted that, but Sherlock continued to surprise him. The doctor padded down the stairs towards the teenager's new room, the door was still shut, but John couldn't hear anyone else moving in the flat so he quietly opened the door.

Light streamed through the curtains, lighting up the dark room and illuminating the pair on the bed. It appeared that Lucy was just beginning to wake up, and Sherlock was still in the exact same place as he was last night; lying on the bed slightly with Lucy leaning on him. _Have they spent the whole night like that?_ John wondered incredulously, surprised at Sherlock's gentle behaviour which was admittedly beginning to scare him.

"Morning," John announced cheerily as he entered the room and moved towards his flatmates.

"Are you announcing the fact that it's morning, or is that meant to sound like a general greeting?" Sherlock queried. John smiled at the detective being his usual self.

"I think he meant it as a general greeting," Lucy suddenly mumbled sleepily, "But it could have been both." She chuckled at the man. "Good morning you two." The teenager said, a little more awake, as she sat up and moved off of Sherlock. "I haven't slept on you all night have I?"

"Yes, you did," Sherlock answered with no annoyance evident in his deep voice.

"Oh, I'm really sorry..."

"Don't be," Sherlock stretched, "I don't mind. It's not like I sleep much anyways."

"Anyone want breakfast?" John offered.

"No," both Sherlock and Lucy said at the same time.

"Are you sure?" John frowned, "You don't want anything Lucy?"

"No thanks, I don't really eat breakfast..."

"Okay then, I'll leave you to get ready," John shrugged as he went to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

Sherlock glared at his phone, the text message last night was still bugging him. It was from an unknown number, and was untraceable, so he didn't really have that much to go on. He'd received an email from Lestrade saying that the fingerprints on the knife were those that matched the victims; the consulting detective actually wasn't surprised by this finding, but the detective inspector was. Which is why he wanted Sherlock to go down to the morgue at St Bart's to have another look at the bodies. Much to Sherlock's surprise he also said that Lucy was welcome if she wanted to join them- which would be useful as before she had helped to prove they weren't suicides. But now it looked like Lestrade may need a little more convincing after the whole fingerprint fiasco. It was sometime near eleven, when Sherlock decided to get dressed into some fresh clothes. When he came out of his room he adorned some black trousers and black shoes, along with a very nice looking purple shirt that clung to him- showing off his lean but toned body.

"Nice shirt," Lucy complimented as he entered the living room.

"Uh... thanks," he replied, unused to receiving compliments. From the back of a chair he retrieved a black blazer style jacket and he walked towards the kitchen as he shrugged it on. The consulting detective walked into the kitchen, then out of the kitchen, before proceeding to look around the living room. Lucy watched him with mild amusement.

"Lost something?" She asked.

"John." Sherlock muttered as he went towards the doctor's bedroom.

"John?" Lucy frowned, "Did you not hear him shout to you, saying that he had just popped out to get some more eggs as we had run out?"

"He never shouted anything to me," Sherlock stopped in his search as he came out of John's bedroom with a laptop under his arm, "How long ago was this?"

"About ten minutes- just before you came out." Lucy laughed.

"What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing, John said you do this sometimes."

"John didn't exactly give you a nice description of me before you came here did he?" Sherlock huffed. Lucy seemed to hesitate at this.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he didn't exactly say nice things I'm guessing."

"He did," the teenager shifted to look into Sherlock's gaze, "But he mostly just warned me that you can do some things, like not realise that John's gone out even though he told you. He also mentioned that you may not like me or even attempt to be nice to me. But you are so it doesn't matter."

"I'm not that bad you know," Sherlock whispered.

"I know." Lucy told him gently. They then fell into a comfortable silence. The dark haired man looked at his new flatmate. Today, she was wearing black skinny jeans, and another long sleeved top of some kind. But there was nothing unusual about that given the typical, cold London weather.

"Right, come on," Sherlock suddenly said, he got to his feet as he put on his grey coat.

"Huh?"

"We're going to the morgue, Lestrade wants me and you're coming too. I'll text John when we're on our way."

John ended up meeting them in the morgue along with Lestrade and Molly, he seemed annoyed that they hadn't waited for him but he didn't say anything. In the middle of the room lay the body of the dead woman from yesterday, on a sterilised examination table, with a sheet covering the person's modesty. The cut on her neck was looking better than it was the other day, not that it really mattered anymore.

"It's a murder."

"No it's not Sherlock!" Lestrade countered, "When will you listen and admit you're wrong? There is nothing to say it was a murder."

"My name," Sherlock said as evidence.

"What?"

"Don't you remember?" Sherlock turned away from the dead body to look at Greg, "My name was scratched on the wall in the first murder," he said with added evidence on murder, "Then, it was written down in the second."

"There was nothing written down, or anything to do with your name with her suicide." Lestrade frowned.

"Oh, right," Sherlock fumbled around in his pocket before pulling out the paper with his name written on in an elegant script, "See? My name. I took this from her clenched hand, must have forgotten to show you..."

"Why would you take the evidence from the crime scene?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me anyway," Sherlock glared, "You want these to be suicides. But isn't it too much of a coincidence that they both committed suicide in the exact same way? A cut to both wrists and the neck; you have to look past the obvious. This is what the killer wants you to think, he's playing a game, don't you see?"

"Sherlock, I'm sure other people have killed themselves in this way," Lestrade told him matter of factly, "And for now, we have to treat it as suicide."

"A study in pink," Sherlock hissed, "You thought they were 'serial suicides' then didn't you? And look what that turned out to be."

"Well can you prove to me that this is a murder?"

"I need more time." Sherlock turned away from Greg but continued speaking, "How many more murders is it going to take for you to realise?" There was a brief moment of silence; no-one really knew what to say.

"Anyone want coffee?" Molly piped up, breaking the quiet with her cheerful voice. Everyone declined, but she went to go make herself one anyway. Suddenly, Lucy spoke up:

"What sort of knives did you find with the victim's fingerprints on?"

"Huh?" Lestrade, surprised at her sudden question, took a moment to answer, "They were both kitchen knives, both of which were covered in blood."

"What are you getting at?" Sherlock queried Lucy. He had now turned to face her and the other's again in interest.

"Can I take a look?" The teenager asked, gesturing to the body. Lestrade nodded, and she went to examine the body at a closer distance. "John," she looked over her shoulder at the doctor, "Can you come here please?"

"Sure," he stood beside her.

"Oh," Lucy's eyes widened, "Has anyone had a proper examination of her yet?" She nodded towards the dead body.

"Not a thorough one," Molly said as she walked back in with coffee.

"John, can you open her mouth slightly?" Lucy asked him. "Has anyone looked inside her mouth?"

"No," Molly frowned. John, in the meantime, had pulled on some thin surgical gloves, and had began to pry open the mouth of the dead woman.

"Oh!" John Watson said in surprise.

"What is it?" Greg asked. Reaching into her mouth, John retrieved what looked like a scrap of paper. And Sherlock observed that it was the same type of paper as the one he found in her hand.

"Paper," John muttered as he held it in his hand, "And it says something, although it's been smudged a bit- probably from her saliva."

"What does it say?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, hope you like games..." John read with his eyes wide.

"Are you serious?" Greg said, shocked.

"Now are we going to treat this as a murder?" Sherlock said, looking at the detective inspector.

"I... Well that doesn't seem as though the victim wrote that, and I doubt we can get a fingerprint analysis because it's been in her mouth..." He turned to Lucy, "How did you know to look in her mouth?"

"Hm? Oh, I didn't." She said, but looking at his confused face, she continued: "I was originally going to say something about the cuts on her body, but then I thought that the skin around her mouth looked a little odd, as though something was in it. So I wanted to check, just in case." She shrugged.

"The cuts..." Sherlock suddenly said before Lestrade could say anything. "Yes! Oh yes how stupid are you and your team of idiotic police officers?"

"Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed, exasperated at the consulting detectives attitude towards the police force. Sherlock ignored him and continued:

"Ah, I didn't realised at first, but now I do," he turned to Lucy and said, "The other day you said these cuts weren't self inflicted because of the way they are shaped."

"I did," she nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.

"And you're right. But you also said they are jagged?"

"Yeah, well, they are..." Her eyes suddenly widened in realisation. "Oh!"

"Exactly," Sherlock grinned triumphantly.

"Anyone going to explain for the idiots?" John interrupted.

"Look you two, really look," Sherlock said as Lestrade and John looked at the cuts, "Can't you see? They're jagged. I didn't even think about that yesterday. Stupid, stupid."

"Sherlock! What is it?" Greg raised his voice above the detective's rambling.

"Those cuts aren't from a kitchen knife!" Sherlock exclaimed, "They're jagged! The only sort of knife that can make those cuts is a serrated one!" John and Greg nodded in realisation, "Wow, are Lucy and I the only intelligent one's here?" Sherlock muttered. Lucy looked quite touched at the compliment, but John and Lestrade didn't apparently feel the same way.

"Well then," Lestrade sighed heavily, "It looks like we have a murder on our hands."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note- Thank you so much for the continued support! It really means a lot to me! Oh, and reviews make me update faster ;)**

**Disclaimer- *Shuffles important looking documents and clears throat.* Well apparently I own nothing according to my fan fiction contract.**

Chapter 6

All in all Sherlock was satisfied with the results he got from the mortuary. Now Lestrade was thoroughly convinced it was a murder, which made co-operation with the police a lot easier for the detective as they now both agreed on the crime that had been committed. But now they were left to wait, they still had nothing much to go on, however Greg had sent his team out to the scenes of the murder to look for any kind of serrated knife that could have killed them. If they were lucky enough to come up with matching knives, they could possibly get a fingerprint analysis. Sherlock knew that wouldn't happen though. The murderer had been far too clever so far, and he wasn't about to make a simple slip up of leaving fingerprints lying around the place. No, he wasn't making this easy; he knew how to play this game well- very well in fact. But Sherlock would not let him win.

"I'm hungry." John decided to announce when they left St Bart's.

"I'm Lucy," the young teen quipped quickly, earning a snicker from the two men walking beside her.

"Hilarious," John rolled his eyes good-naturedly, "Where should we get food?"

"Wherever, I'm not hungry," Sherlock muttered, wrapping his scarf around his neck tighter. John sighed heavily:

"You need to eat Sherlock, and don't give me crap about your body just being transport. I'm ordering you."

"Fine." Sherlock groaned, not wanting an argument over the matter.

"Any preferences?" John asked Lucy.

"Nope, I'm not too hungry myself to be honest," she replied.

"You haven't eaten much recently," John frowned, concerned, "You're feeling okay?

"I'm feeling fine, yes," Lucy said robotically.

They ended up going into a small cafe only a few streets away from Baker street. Sherlock ordered a sandwich, John ordered a jacket potato, and Lucy ordered a small salad.

"You need to eat more than a salad you know Lucy," John told her.

"I said I wasn't hungry," she muttered lightly, "I'll be fine."

"Lucy I know..."

"No John, you don't know," the teenager suddenly snapped without thinking, the past couple of day's stress catching up with her, "You don't really know me, neither does Sherlock. And yet, I'm suddenly living with you two in your flat. You don't know my eating habits; you don't know anything about me. So just leave me alone!" At this point, at the mention of 'you don't know anything about me,' Sherlock decided to voice his deductions of the teenager to prove otherwise. Timing really wasn't his strong point.

"You're a teenager, age fifteen, and have been living rough for around six months. You don't have any friends or family, as they would have realised your living conditions and would have intervened. You have a fair amount of money judging by the state of your clothes, as some of them seem new and are in brilliant condition. No one has given them to you as you don't have anyone to give you things, so your parents were well off. You have anxiety issues, the way your eyes darted about uncertainly and the way you wrung your hands when you first came into our flat were clear signs of that. Your anxiety is also part of the reason why you never went to an adoption or fostering agency or got help, you were too scared or nervous about what would happen. You also have a form of depression evident by the way you smile- as your smile doesn't reach your eyes and sometimes you just seem empty. Also judging by everything you've been through you most likely have depression." Sherlock took a breath, not even pausing despite John's glare and Lucy's obvious upset, "You're slim, incredibly so. You had plenty of money to eat but you didn't. Perhaps this could be down to the depression and the lack of appetite. But judging by how skinny you are and by how little you eat, you most likely have an undiagnosed eating disorder of some kind..." He trailed off as Lucy suddenly stood up and walked out of the cafe without so much as a backwards glance.

"Way to go Sherlock." John muttered sarcastically.

"Don't go after her," Sherlock told him before the doctor had a chance to stand up, "She needs some time on her own to get her head straight. She's been through a lot these past few days."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I wanted to prove that we did know her a little." The detective defended himself.

"By rattling off her life story? Telling us personal things like that?"

"In hindsight I do realise I probably shouldn't have gone as far as I did, but timing isn't my forte."

"The least you could do is apologise."

"I doubt she'll want to be anywhere near me, like all the rest. But you started it."

"Yes, I know, and I will apologise, I shouldn't have assumed that I could tell her about her eating when we don't know each other too well."

"Hurry up and eat so we can get back to the flat," Sherlock told John, not wanting the conversation to carry on further.

Lucy had stormed off, fuming. But soon, her anger dissipated into just pure sadness. She felt like she's known John and Sherlock for months, although it had only been a day. It was strange. However she wasn't appreciative of John trying to be like a parent and telling her what to do. She winced slightly, and brushed away a stray tear as she opened the door to 221B Baker Street with the key she had been given yesterday. She'd missed the peace of being on her own, so the quiet of the flat was more than welcome as she immediately escaped into her bedroom. It already felt like home, she thought as she glanced around the room. But she didn't feel like sitting doing nothing; she couldn't. All the emotions were building again, and she just couldn't cope. Besides, it was a habit, and it wasn't one she was willing to break. Not when it worked so well for her unlike any other coping mechanism. So with tears beginning to sting her eyes again, she reached into her bag to withdraw the box that contained the one thing that kept her sane.

The metal glinted, and the coolness of it felt relaxing. Lucy sighed appreciatively as she felt it in her hand, running her finger along the sharp edge that was slightly crusting with dried blood. To many it would be considered sickening, which is why she couldn't let John or Sherlock find out. She couldn't bear to see what sort of reaction they would give, John may be a doctor, but even he would be shocked. Perhaps even disgusted. As for Sherlock... well there was no telling with him was there? And if they did find out, they may kick her out, back onto the street without caring. So she wasn't about to risk that chance.

She rolled up her sleeves. The numerous scars and red cuts glared up at her with accusation, accusing her of being so pathetic, worthless. But she did it anyway. Cut after cut, the blade went deeper and deeper. Blood flowed down her arm but she blotted it and prevented it from dripping onto the bed with a white tissue. She felt numb. Everything felt numb. It was like she wasn't even alive. Placing the blade back into her bag, she just sat there and looked at her work. The cuts and scars made her feel so much better, and the buzz the self harm gave her made everything bearable for a while. Time passed without her realising, and she suddenly heard the door to the flat shut and footsteps on the stairs- signalling her flatmates and friends arrival.

"Shit." She mumbled to herself. She didn't have time to go clean her arms- which were covered in dried blood- so she simply pulled down her sleeves, praying to god that Sherlock wouldn't deduce her secret.

"Lucy?" She heard John call out. The teenager winced at his worried but gentle voice and immediately regretted what she had said to him and Sherlock. She shouldn't have had a go at John, or at Sherlock for that matter, she only hoped that they would forgive her. "Lucy?" He called out again, this time his voice sounded closer.

Running a hand through her dark hair, Lucy decided to just go into the living room and face them. As she entered, John turned to her.

"Thank God Lucy, I was worried," John breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her sitting down on the couch.

"Sorry." She mumbled, unsure what to say, "I shouldn't have said that to you."

"Hey now, its okay, no need to apologise." John smiled reassuringly, "And I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Its fine," Lucy whispered. She sighed, but said: "I just felt like you were saying something my parents would have said, and... I donno..."

"I understand," John said, saving her from trying to explain. At that point, Sherlock immerged from the kitchen after taking off his coat. He eyed the teenager with his sharp blue-green eyes, a momentary flash of concern showed on his face before he quickly hid it.

"What happened?" He suddenly asked her.

"Huh?" She said, slightly taken aback by his first words.

"You heard what I said," he frowned, hating having to repeat himself, "There's blood on your hand. What happened?" He gestured to her hands which were- as he correctly noted- had some dried blood still on them.

"Shit." She whispered, low enough for them not to hear, but her lack of response concerned them both.

"Lucy," John stepped forward, "Where has that blood come from?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note- Wow! We have a little over 1000 views on here! So happy, thanks for all the support! This chapter was so hard to write, so I hope you guys like it.**

**Disclaimer- I wish I owned Sherlock... but guess what? I don't...**

Chapter 7

"_Lucy," John stepped forward, "Where has that blood come from?" _

She froze.

Attempting to compose her face as quickly as possible, she took a step back away from John. But her scared look hadn't gone unnoticed by Sherlock or John for that matter. Dammit! She growled to herself. Now what was she to do? It was imperative that they didn't find out, they would make her stop, they may send her to therapy, and she couldn't do it! She couldn't do it! It was all too much. But her prolonged silence and apparent inability to speak had piqued both their concern. Now she was screwed. What could she tell them? They'd be suspicious if she tried to shrug it off after her frightened mute moment.

"Lucy?" John prompted as he took another step towards the seemingly scared teenager. She took another step back- much to John's concern- and ended up backing against the wall. Feeling trapped, she felt her breath quicken as her anxiety started to get the better of her. Her eyes darted around the room, looking desperately for a way out of her situation. Sherlock watched her with steady eyes, unsure what to make of everything, but it was obvious that his mind was beginning to come to its own conclusions. Before either had a chance to say anything, Lucy finally spoke up; although her shaky voice was riddled with anxiety:

"It's nothing," she winced at her obvious choice of idiotic words, "I mean, I must have just caught it or something..."

"There are no cuts on your hand to have been caught." Sherlock stated, "You've handled blood, but the source wasn't from your hands." Damn him for being so clever.

To say John was worried was to say the absolute least. Hell, he was more than worried. Part of it was from his doctor side, but a great deal was from his own genuine concern for his flatmate. No, she was more than a flatmate. She was a friend. As strange as it was, he already considered her a friend. They got on well in general, and the age difference didn't matter- he still saw her as a friend. As did Sherlock apparently; much to everyone's complete surprise. But as to the matter at hand, John himself wasn't too sure how she had acquired the dried blood on her hands. There wasn't a lot of it mind, but it was a concern as to what the origins of it were. She could have caught herself, and wiped it off with her hand- but that seemed a little unlikely.

"Lucy, have you hurt yourself?" John asked innocently.

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"Have you caught yourself by accident?"

"Oh," she appeared to relax some, "Uh... yeah." Her response was uncertain, and wasn't really what John would have liked to hear, as he wasn't sure how honest she was being.

"Let me take a look," John said, coming closer to her.

"No!" She practically yelled, "I mean... its fine."

"No Lucy, I want to make sure it doesn't get infected." John told her firmly. Sherlock had been quietly listening throughout their exchange, and he scanned her clothing silently. Her jeans were clean, but the sleeves of her arm appeared to have what looked like small stain patches on the faded black fabric. Blood most likely. Does that mean her arms were injured? He frowned.

Lucy was helpless to resist as John reached out to take her arm. She couldn't help the flinch that wracked her body as he touched the recent cuts- most likely opening them up some more. He gave her a concerned glance, but wordlessly led her over to the couch- where she sat down.

"Just leave me alone." She said, a little harshly to him.

"I need to make sure you're going to be okay." John told her gently, giving her a reassuring smile at her terrified face. But he frowned: "...Or is there something you're not telling me?"

"Uh... I... uh," Lucy stammered, hating herself to the point where she would happily curl up and die. She fiddled with the sleeves of her top unconsciously, and yanked them down past her hands a bit. John's intentions were good, she knew that, he meant well- but she didn't want her secret revealed. No. It couldn't happen. Feeling tears prickle her eyes, she silently cursed as a lone one trailed down her cheek. She felt betrayed by the tears, and it didn't help ease John's concern.

"Roll up your sleeves please," he ordered softly. By now, Sherlock had moved closer to the pair. His eyes were wide with realisation. He deduced everything that was impossible, and now, what remained, must be the truth. And he couldn't quite believe it. He only needed to see her arms to confirm his suspicions.

"No." Lucy said defiantly.

"Lucy, either you do it yourself, or I'll do it for you," the doctor said, now worried at what he may find. The teenager hesitated long enough for John to know that she wasn't going to move.

"John," Sherlock suddenly spoke up, making both the doctor and the young girl jump, "Uh, should I get a first aid kit?"

"Um... sure?" John frowned. How did Sherlock know she'd need treatment? Or had it figured out what was wrong himself? Knowing Sherlock, he probably had figured it out. The consulting detective returned not a moment later after dashing up to John's room to get the first aid kit, to find the two flatmates in the same position as before. He handed the box to John, and ended up taking the seat next to Lucy.

"Lucy..." He started, "Please roll up your sleeves." The teenager turned to look at him with such a pitiful gaze, that it made Sherlock almost feel bad for her and what she may have to go through- should his deductions be correct. But he let no emotion show on his steadily calm face, as he patiently waited.

"Is there any way I can get out of it?" She asked after a pause. Her voice sounded quiet and defeated. Both the doctor and the detective shook their heads. Although Lucy hated what was happening, she had to admit that she was rather touched by their apparent concern for her. With shaking hands she started to roll her faded black sleeves up. Her head was kept down, staring at the sleeves as she couldn't bring herself to look them in the eye; afraid of the judgement, of the disappointment.

The skin of her arms were presented to the two men she had come to call friends. The contrast of her pale skin against the red of the cuts was agonising to look at given the current situation. She hated herself. She heard the sharp intake of breath from both Sherlock and John as they finally saw what was held underneath the layers of clothing. They were met with rows upon rows of scars- some were white, others were pink. Sherlock and John's eyes trailed over the most recent cuts; some of which had a few beads of bright red blood breaking through. Their depth varied from deep to shallow scratches. But all of them were a shock to the men. Sherlock had been right. Lucy self harmed.

"Lucy..." John breathed, speechless. His heart broke at the sight as he realised just how upset Lucy must be to do this to herself. The teenager took a deep breath, and finally looked up to meet their gazes. John looked torn, shocked at what he saw. Whereas Sherlock didn't look as shocked (Lucy presumed he had made a deduction of some kind) but yet, the slight worried and sadness were evident in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Lucy mumbled, hating the long silence of disbelief.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," John told her with compassion laced in his calm voice. His doctor instincts quickly kicked in, and he immediately began tending to the most recent cuts. Sherlock admittedly couldn't quite understand why someone would feel the need to do this; that fact was probably down to his sociopathic tendencies. But even Sherlock knew, deep down, that he wasn't a sociopath. He had feelings. He did care. And he didn't like seeing his new friend like this. But even so, he didn't really know what to do or say; he hadn't got much experience in the area.

"If you don't want me to stay here anymore then I understand," The troubled teen whispered.

"What?" John hadn't expected her to say that. "Why on earth would we want you to leave?"

"Look at me John, I'm a mess. A problem. You shouldn't have to deal with me. Don't feel you are obliged to."

"Neither of us feel obliged," Sherlock spoke for the first time since she unveiled her secret, "Lucy, I don't have much experience with this sort of thing- but this doesn't change our opinion of you."

"You don't hate me?" She frowned, confused.

"We couldn't hate you for this," John looked up at her with such gentleness in his eyes, that it almost made the teen burst into tears again.

"I'm not going to judge you," Sherlock told her, "You never judged me when Anderson told you those things about me did you? You decided to form your own opinions. Well, this isn't going to change my opinion, and I'm not going to judge you from this. It's not a weakness Lucy. It's a coping mechanism isn't it? I've read a bit about self injury, and I know how easily it can be to fall into an addiction." Sherlock shifted to place an arm around her shoulder, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She leaned into his warm body as John finished tending and bandaging her wrists and arms. The doctor looked up at Sherlock with slight disbelief.

"That's the most emotional thing you've ever said." John said, in an attempt to lighten the mood and relax Lucy. The teenager couldn't help but laugh a little, and the deep grumble from Sherlock just made her laugh more.

"So you're not mad?" She asked, just to be sure.

"Of course not," John told her with a small smile. He still looked concerned though. "Look Lucy, it's hard to stop an addiction. And I'm guessing it's been going on for some time judging by the scars; so I won't tell you to stop- or make you stop. But... please Lucy, in future, come talk to one of us first if you ever feel like this again okay? We will be happy to talk to you. Can you promise that?"

"I'll try," Lucy murmured, "It'll be hard, but I'll do my best..."

"Thank you," John seemed happy at this. "I'll go make us a hot drink." He moved off to go make them all a coffee.

It was a very surreal moment for Lucy. She hadn't expected things to go that well at all. She had expected shouting, hurtful words, and for them to kick her out. But no, this was the exact opposite. She smiled to herself. Having them know was actually quite a relief; now she wouldn't have to hide her secret anymore. In all honesty, she was still half expecting either John or Sherlock to have a go at her, perhaps with another life story deduction thrown into the equation, resulting with her on the streets. She couldn't quite believe their reaction; especially Sherlock's.

For a while they sat, watching the TV as they drank their drinks, having a laugh. It was clear how much Sherlock detested daytime telly, by the way he constantly shouted about how wrong and stupid they all were on a rerun of a popular soap. But it was funny, and it made Lucy feel so much better. Sherlock still hadn't moved from his position, his arm was still around Lucy's shoulder- but neither of them minded.

"Hey Lucy," Sherlock spoke up after the soap had finished. "Can we take a walk for a bit?"

"Uh, of course," she said uncertainly.

"John, we won't be long, twenty minutes at the most, but more likely fifteen minutes."

"Oh, okay," The doctor said, surprised.

"I just want to have a chat somewhere private," Sherlock informed them as he noticed Lucy's worried look. "You're not in troubled," he smiled as he put on his coat again, "I just feel like going for a little walk."

"Okay." Lucy said, standing up as she waved goodbye to John before following the consulting detective into the unusually quiet London street.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note- thank you for all the continued support! Please leave a little review if you like it! I would have updated sooner with a longer chapter, but I had no access to my laptop or pen drive... **

**Disclaimer- I only own Lucy. As much as I wished I owned Sherlock, I don't.**

Chapter 8

The pair walked to a secluded area in the park nearby Baker Street. It wasn't awfully busy there, so it gave a nice relaxing, peaceful atmosphere. They most likely wouldn't get disturbed here. Sherlock sat on the wooden bench in the clearing, staring at the trees around them; Lucy took a breath before sitting beside him. A gentle breeze whipped Sherlock's hair, the dark curls blowing in the wind; his eyes sparkled slightly as he looked out at the scenery of the park before him.

"Am I in trouble?" She asked quietly, breaking the silence. Sherlock turned his head to look at her.

"No." He answered, his voice even. There was a pause, "Lucy, I'm guessing you're happy to stay, am I correct?"

"Yes, if that's okay..." She frowned, wondering where this was going.

"Of course it's okay." Sherlock seemed to be thinking, "But a lot goes on around me. John's life has been put in danger because of me and what I do; I have been the subject of hate as you witnessed by my... colleagues. You do realise that you may be in danger because of me as well?"

"Danger does not concern me," Lucy smiled wryly, "Besides, I'm sure you'll protect me." Sherlock chuckled once.

"And if I were to say that you could be in danger right now because of the case I'm currently on, what would you say?"

"You mean the case with the cuts on the neck and wrists?"

"Yes," Sherlock's eyes suddenly widened, "Well that would explain how you knew about the cuts..." he added as an afterthought.

"Well in that case, I would say that I don't care," the teenager said, unfazed by the warning as she leaned back against the bench, keeping determined eye contact with the tall man.

"I can't tell if you're just brave or very stupid." Sherlock grinned sideways at her.

"A bit of both I think." There was silence, "So am I really in danger?"

"Maybe, I don't really know as of yet." He answered honestly.

"I'm not stupid Sherlock; I guessed that I wouldn't exactly be having a nice quiet normal life when I came here." She hesitated, "John did have a long chat with me before we came."

"You seem to trust John a lot considering you've only been here a day or so." He noted.

"I trust you as well." She told him. At this, he looked at her with an air of surprise. Lucy laughed, "I'm being serious Sherlock, you're my friend, of course I trust you."

"Friend..." he muttered to himself, the word seeming almost foreign. To think, a couple of years ago he didn't have any friends, mere acquaintances at the most. Now he had two. Ha. He actually had friends. John and Lucy. That was enough for him; two good friends that he could trust with his life.

Did he trust Lucy? Yes. He knew he shouldn't trust so quickly, but she was young, reliable, genuine, he could trust her. After all, he had trusted John as quickly. Sherlock Holmes looked down at the teenagers concealed arms, the skin beneath hidden by a layer or so of fabric. The blood on her hand had been washed, but there was still a little under her nails that she had missed. He thought back to earlier, when he first saw what lay underneath the clothes. The scars... the cuts. A lot had faded, into thin white lines that traced the pale skin of her arms, almost invisible. But it was the more recent ones that stood out. The angry colour of red glared up at him when he saw them, the freshest cuts even had small beads of blood breaking the surface from the friction of her clothing. They marked her arms, and he even wondered if they were scattered in other places. He wondered if her legs or stomach were littered with cuts or scratches. Sherlock sighed slightly heavily, he didn't really know what to say or do. What could one say to such a broken teenager who had lost their parents, their family? It will all be okay. Everything will be fine. No, those typical, predictable sentences full of nonsense were not fitting. Because he knew it wouldn't be 'fine' or 'okay' for her. And it wouldn't be that way for a while. But he knew that he couldn't just stand by and watch her shred her skin, he couldn't let her create more scars. Yes, he wasn't really much of a so called sociopath was he? Sherlock cared. Of course he did. But it is so much easier to say he doesn't than to face the pain and loss that caring can bring. Obviously John would want her to at least try and cut back on the self harming, he was a doctor after all, and he hated to see his friends like this.

"Lucy," Sherlock started again, "You know what John said earlier... about how if you ever feel the need to harm yourself, you were to come talk to one of us first?"

"Yeah..." she said uncertainly, knowing that the promise she made to do with that would inevitably be broken at some point, "What about it?"

"I agree with what he said to do." Sherlock paused, thinking what to say, "And I'm serious, please come talk to one of us. No matter what the problem is, we will be happy to talk. It doesn't matter what time either, you can come to me at two o'clock in the morning and I'd be happy to chat. And even if you think it's for something silly then come to us. And..." He took a breath, "And even if you want to... self harm... and you don't know or have a reason why, then come talk to us. It may help distract you from the need to do it." He gave her a warm smile, "No matter what Lucy, I'm here for you, so is John. Please, don't go through this alone. Talk to us." It was perhaps one of the deepest and moving things he'd ever said, but he was glad he said it. She gave him a small smile, speechless at his genuine kindness. Lucy appreciated all he said, and was quite frankly, touched by every word.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper, just loud enough so that he could hear it. The consulting detective smiled before standing up, pulling his coat around him.

"Let's get back home," he said.

Most of the day had already flown by, and by the time they got back it was evening. John had suggested ordering some Indian food, as he couldn't be bothered to cook, so Lucy and Sherlock ate a little bit. Lucy guessed that Sherlock must have told John what they had talked about while they were out, as the doctor never mentioned it, but she could see that he kept glancing at her as though he wanted to make sure that she was all right.

However, her flatmates and friends had noticed how quiet she was... maybe even distracted. It was worrying, and they both knew what she would do if she feeling down. And she was feeling down. Lucy couldn't describe it... the feeling had come on suddenly. Maybe it was just that she was still overwhelmed by all that had gone on that day, she didn't really know. But there was only one thing on her mind throughout the whole evening: and that was cutting.

And she had a problem. She didn't want to burden Sherlock or John by talking about it to them, she needed a release from it all, and she needed it now. She needed to feel the cool blade against her skin, the pain as it dug into her, and she needed to watch the blood drip out. It was calming. And she needed it. But they'd be disappointed in her. She would have completely ignored what they said, and she hated the disappointment she may face. So Lucy decided that she couldn't tell them, she couldn't let them know. She'd do it when she went to bed.

When she said goodnight to them, she hoped that Sherlock wouldn't realise how she actually went to bed earlier than she usually did. He may pick up on it... but hopefully he wouldn't get suspicious. But she missed the frown and the confused look he gave John as she left the room, in her pyjamas.

"John, she's going to bed earlier than usual," Sherlock murmured once she had left the room.

"Sherlock, Lucy may just be tired, it's been a long day for her I expect," John muttered back as he took a sip of his tea.

"You must have noticed how quiet she was all night." Sherlock hissed, "John... what if she's going to bed early to... get rid of the stress or whatever."

"You think she went early to self harm?" John frowned, the thought seemed odd... but not unheard of. And he felt a pang inside of him, at what she could be doing right now. Sherlock nodded his confirmation. "She said she'd come talk to us..." John seemed a little hurt.

"She has anxiety issues, maybe she was too nervous," Sherlock mused, "Or maybe she was afraid of the disappointment... or she didn't want us to be... burdened with her problems." He sat forward, "Which of course is rubbish. She wouldn't burden me," he murmured as an afterthought. They sat in silence, the idea of what Lucy could be doing making them worried and concerned.

"I'm going to go check on her," Sherlock suddenly announced as he stood up swiftly.

"Sherlock wait!" John said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm not taking the chance that she could really hurt herself," Sherlock told him before walking off towards the troubled teenager's bedroom, John was hot on his heels. Uncertainly, Sherlock paused outside the door; did he really want to risk seeing her doing it should he open the door now? He hesitated, but shook his head and grabbed the door handle.

He couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as he threw open the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note- Sorry for the lack of updates, I've had a rubbish few weeks. But it's the summer holidays so hopefully I will update regularly again. Thanks for the support! You have no idea how much it means to me.**

**This chapter focuses a lot more on the self harm, as I wanted to focus on it more- so it could be triggering! But don't worry; I know where this story is going. Oh, and I take small suggestions if anyone has any. Nothing plot changing- but I do suggestions- so PM me if you have any.**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing.**

Chapter 9

Never before did Sherlock or John think that they'd be this affected by what they saw- and this was coming from those who worked with dead and ill people. Maybe it was because they actually witnessed it happening, and to none other than a friend. But either way, it was truly heartbreaking to see.

As soon as the door had been thrown wide open, the shocked teenager quickly scrambled to hide the blade, the bloodied tissues, and her freshly cut arm. To the doctor's eyes, it wasn't too bad- the cuts weren't deep and she didn't have the time to do it too much... thankfully. Sherlock froze, unsure what to make of it. Deep down he knew they would find her in this state: crying, depressed, terrified and bleeding. But yet, he really had hoped that his suspicions were to be proved wrong. He watched with analysing eyes as she immediately hid the evidence- John didn't seem to notice this quick movement as soon as they entered the room; but Sherlock didn't miss anything. The blade and tissues went under the second pillow for the time being, and he watched as she shoved the long sleeves of her pyjamas back down to hide to the cuts.

She looked frightened, Sherlock noticed, and perhaps... ashamed. Slowly, he began to approach her, with John not too far behind.

"Shit," she mumbled, barely audible.

"It's alright Lucy," Sherlock said, his voice deep and caring. As he came to her bed, he sat beside her; she refused to look at him. "Lucy look at me." He glanced helplessly at John who gave him a nod of encouragement. Apparently John thought he was handling the situation well, but to tell the truth Sherlock was worried he's say the wrong thing- as usual.

"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered. She didn't really know what to say either, she hadn't expected this to happen and quite frankly she hated it. She hated the fact that they knew she broke the promise she made, and she hated the fact that they had to witness that. Why. Why the hell did she have to be so bloody stupid? "I'm so sorry," she repeated, burying her face in her hands.

"Lucy, look at me," Sherlock tentatively took her hands and held them in his; forcing her to turn her head to look at him with tear filled eyes. Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose, stroking his thumb over her small hands before saying: "Its okay Lucy, it really is okay." She just shook her head as John decided to sit the other side of her. The tears of humiliation, sadness and ashamedness continued to fall down her pale cheeks no matter how many times she tried to brush them away- willing them to stop. Sherlock, while still keeping his right hand clutching hers, wrapped his left arm around her shoulder. He'd never done this before, never tried to understand the emotions or let himself get caught in them; but he couldn't help it. Lucy was different, and she needed someone.

"Why didn't you come talk to us?" John gently asked her.

"I was scared," Lucy whispered, her voice choked, "I didn't want you to be disappointed. I'm sorry!"

"Hey it's okay," John reassured her, "We're not angry or disappointed okay? We're just worried about you."

"I don't think either of us truly expected you to talk to us immediately," Sherlock muttered, his voice deep and soothing.

"Can I have a look at your arm please?" John requested, the doctor side of him kicking in.

"No," she said firmly, "It's fine, honestly. It's not bad at all."

"I still want to clean them to prevent infection," he told her.

"He won't give up," Sherlock said with a smile in his voice, trying to relax the teenager. They were silent for a moment in which John got the first aid kit. When he came back, he gave Lucy a warm smile. The tears had stopped falling by now, and she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly. As he sat to her left side again, he looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes subtly and sighed heavily as she thrust her arm at him. With quick precision, John swiftly clean the fresh cuts; he glanced at the bandage from earlier- now bloodied- and decided to remove it before bandaging her arm again.

In the short time it took for him to do this, Sherlock had just let Lucy lay her head in his chest. It seemed to comfort her, he noticed, being in close proximity of someone. Maybe it was because she had no parents, she had been on her own for so long and perhaps she was truly grateful that she now had people who liked her and would look after her. Six months ago her parents had died, she never saw them being killed but she witnessed the aftermath. Sherlock truthfully thought it was strange, but right now it was their daughter who was suffering the most- and both he and John had to make sure that she would be okay. That she would make it through this rough patch alive.

"Done," John announced as he pulled her pyjama sleeve back down.

"Thanks I guess," Lucy replied with a small smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked softly after a pause.

"No," she shook her head, her voice quiet, "Not now."

"Okay, but remember we are both here if you ever need to talk."

"I know," She smiled, "Thanks."

"Well we better leave you to go to sleep," the doctor stood up.

"I'm going to stay," Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"What?" Both John and Lucy turned to look at him.

"I'm going to stay with you tonight," he told Lucy, his piercing eyes were gentle. She didn't protest, but instead, just nodded in understanding.

"Goodnight Lucy," John murmured. But then he turned to Sherlock, "A word please."

"Night John... thanks." Lucy replied as the consulting detective followed John out of the room.

Once outside the teenager's bedroom, John quietly shut the door and moved away so Lucy couldn't hear. "What are you doing Sherlock?" He asked his friend, with a slight hint of confusion in his voice.

"What do you mean?" The detective looked surprised.

"You're going to stay with Lucy the night," John stated.

"Oh," Sherlock realised. He took a breath before quietly explaining: "I didn't think it would be a good idea to leave her on her own, not in the current state she's in. I know where her blade is, most likely she is now hiding it again, but I didn't want to chance the risk that she would harm herself again. And... She needs us John; more than she realises. Her parents are gone, for months she had no-one. It's our responsibility to look after her. I like her John; my intentions aren't bad I assure you." Throughout Sherlock's little speech, John had been listening carefully.

"I wasn't accusing you." He murmured, "I was just... pleasantly surprised by how genuine you are being. You've never been like this before."

"I know, I can't explain it."

"Maybe it's something called emotion?" John suggested with a grin.

"Don't be stupid John I know it's hard for you but please try. Emotion... what a preposterous thought." Sherlock smiled back; but John couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped him.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," John bid him goodnight as the dark haired man went into his room quickly to get changed.

The room was still dark, but he could see the outline of the young girl lying in the middle of the bed. She was still awake as she glanced up at him as he entered. Sherlock strode over to her, "Shift over," he murmured as he climbed next to her. Lucy noted that he was now wearing pyjama bottoms and a grey t-shirt as he settled himself into a comfortable position.

"You don't have to stay here you know," she told him.

"I know, but I rarely sleep. Besides, I want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Thanks," She mumbled appreciatively.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock queried.

"I'm fine." Lucy shifted her head on the pillow, "Did you want to get under the covers?" She asked, after all, it wasn't the warmest of nights. He shook his head, but wrapped his arm around her shoulder again. They ended up taking pretty much the same position as the previous night- with Lucy leaning on his chest and with his arm around her.

The room was quiet all apart from the street traffic and the gentle pattern of Lucy's breathing as she dreamed in her slumber. Sherlock was still, his eyes closed but he was perfectly awake. The text he got yesterday said 'Are you ready for the next part of my game?' And yet, he hadn't heard a word. No new bodies found. Nothing. It made him bored; he had hoped for at least one more body to have been found. But no, nothing. How dull. They weren't any closer to catching the killer, as they left no clues to find him. The police still hadn't managed to find the serrated knife, but that didn't mean they wouldn't find it. Not that there would be many if any clues that came with it; the murderer was too clever for that. Ooh it was rather fun wasn't it? Sherlock was getting a good run for his money, but he would not be beaten. All he had to do was wait... not patiently as he couldn't do that... but he could wait. He was getting played with, he was a part of a game, one of which he would win. The killer was taunting him: leaving him little notes at the scene of the crime, texting him on occasion. But what was the motive? And why bring Lucy into it? He had sent a text the other day 'Are you and the girl enjoying my game?' But what did Lucy have to do with this? He frowned, clearly they were being watched. How else would the killer know that she was living with them? That didn't concern Sherlock though, he had worse happen to him- but it bothered him that Lucy was put in significant danger because of this. Not that he would let anything happen to her or John for that matter.

It was a little after midnight when a small beep and vibration brought him out of his thoughts; his eyes flashed open and immediately fell on the phone on the desk. Being careful not to wake Lucy, he reached over to retrieve it. Finally! A single text:

Are you bored? Did you expect to hear from me sooner? All good things come to those who wait though, Sherlock. I think Lucy will like this next move. Enjoy x

Sherlock read the text twice before he put his phone back down. Glancing at the sleeping girl on his chest, he sighed slightly. He wondered what was next in store for them, but he knew that whatever it was, it was going to put both of their lives in even more danger. Not a moment after he put the phone down, did it vibrate again and beep. With a confused expression, he picked it up again and opened the text. But it was different; this one was a picture... He clicked download and waited a second before opening the file. The photo had been taken during the daytime, and it was a picture of a street in London. At the time it was taken there were no people around, so it looked very peaceful and quiet. The houses that lined the street were two stories high and rather large- with big driveways. They looked expensive. Sherlock knew where these houses were, but why would the murderer give him a clue? With caution, he went to send a text in reply, voicing his question:

Why give me a clue? –SH

He waited a beat for a reply, and he was not disappointed:

Even I get bored.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note- thanks so much for the reviews, favourites and alerts! Please continue to review if you are enjoying it, as it gives me motivation to continue.**

**Disclaimer- Well, I really have had it up to here with saying this again and again... but I own nothing okay? Nothing! **

Chapter 10

Sherlock was getting a little impatient by seven in the morning, usually he would have let Lucy sleep for longer- but the fact that they now had a clue and something more to go on made him anxious to be out of the flat and off to the street in question. He'd taken to stroking her hair gently for the rest of the night as he mulled over the clues, facts and what lay ahead of them today; but now he'd decided to drum his fingers impatiently on the wooden desk beside him. From the other room, he had just heard John walk downstairs to make himself some breakfast and his usual morning cup of tea. Looking back down at the peacefully sleeping girl, Sherlock –being extremely careful- manoeuvred out of the bed from underneath Lucy. He had the teen partly in his arms at the end of this, and so he gently laid her back down without disturbing her at all. The detective sighed and smiled slightly at the sight before noiselessly exiting the bedroom. On his way, he stopped off into his own bedroom to put on one of his many dressing gowns and ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair.

John Watson was sitting down in his chair munching on some toast and jam when Sherlock entered the living room- for John couldn't eat in the kitchen what with the numerous amounts of experiments everywhere. He looked up at his flatmate with a smile as Sherlock took the seat opposite him. "Morning Sherlock," John said after swallowing his mouthful of toast. "Is Lucy still asleep?"

"Yes, I left her for a bit." Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal, "I got a text last night."

"Good morning John, how are you? Oh I'm fine thank you. I had a lovely sleep thank you," John joked at Sherlock's lack of normal chatter.

"Hilarious," he just rolled his eyes and huffed in slight annoyance.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," John tried to suppress a grin, "A text?"

"Yes John a text I just said," Sherlock got his phone out, "From the murderer." He withdrew his phone from his pocket and showed the doctor- who frowned as he read it.

"Wait, what? Sherlock, how the hell does he know about Lucy?" John hissed.

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, "I've had a couple of these texts now. One before mentioned the girl living with us- but it's only now he or she is using Lucy's name."

"And why would the killer involve a teenage girl?" John raised his eyebrows as he took a sip from his mug of tea.

"Maybe because she's living with us." Sherlock suggested.

"Shit Sherlock, what if she's in danger..."

"She probably is," Sherlock shrugged- enraging his flatmate.

"How the hell can you be so calm?" John almost yelled.

"John, you got put in danger because of me remember? I told Lucy yesterday that she was probably in danger- she was fine with it actually. And... It's not like I'd let anything happen to her. I didn't let anything bad happen to you did I?"

"I almost got blown up," John angrily took a bite from his toast.

"But you didn't. I wouldn't have let it happen. I protect my friends John. I'll protect Lucy."

"You better." The doctor sighed.

"But that wasn't the only thing the killer sent me," Sherlock muttered, John looked at him expectantly so he continued; "I received a picture last night." He held out his phone for John to have a look.

"That's a street of houses."

"Brilliant observation John, how did you do it?" Sherlock queried, earning a sarcastic look.

"Hang on... I think I know where this is. Yeah, it's about a fifteen minute drive from here." John murmured, thinking hard.

"Good, we're going there today." Sherlock informed him.

"Have you told the police?" John asked pointedly.

"Urgh, not yet." Sherlock groaned. John continued to glare at him, "Fine I'll text Lestrade now."

"Call him."

"Must I?" Sherlock pouted, John just raised an eyebrow- making Sherlock sigh in defeat.

"Well I'll go wake Lucy." John said, finishing his tea.

"Uh huh, be ready to go shortly." Sherlock said absentmindedly as he dialled the number for Lestrade. With a grin he added, "Could be dangerous."

Fifteen minutes later, Lucy joined the two men in the front room. Now fully dressed in long sleeved clothing and black skinny jeans, the teenager smiled as she greeted them. Sherlock was busy rushing about, he himself was fully dressed in a white shirt and black suit clothing; he shrugged on his usual coat and wrapped a dark blue scarf around his pale neck.

"I've called Lestrade; the police should already be there." Sherlock informed them.

"How will they know what house to go to?" John queried.

"They'll be searching, seeing what ones are abandoned and all that." The consulting detective shrugged. John had briefly informed Lucy of what was going on, she hadn't seen the photo, but there was no point showing her as they were now about to leave to go to the street. "Let's go, are you ready? Good, no more time. Hurry up!" Sherlock had started running downstairs before he had even finished his first sentence, and ended up shouting up the stairs to his laughing friends. And, by the time they got outside, Sherlock had already hailed a cab, apparently told the cabbie the address and was sitting in the vehicle looking expectantly at his friends.

"Eager much," John muttered jokingly to Lucy as they shut the door of 221B Baker Street and joined their friend ready for the journey.

The taxi ride there wasn't a long one. Sherlock didn't utter a single word; instead, he took to drumming his fingers again while staring out the window. John explained to Lucy that he was usually like that on a case. "So what's so special about this street?" Lucy asked after a few minutes of a slightly uncomfortable silence.

"I'm not too sure myself," John admitted, he glanced sideways at Sherlock, hoping for an explanation. The detective raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes.

"The street in which we are going is the one in the picture the killer sent to me. It's a clue... of some sorts. I'm presuming we will find something there that will get us one step closer to finding him... Obviously." Sherlock told them, "But, Lucy, the text I receive informed me that you will 'like this next move,' so I'm hoping you'll be able to help us."

"Uh, I'll do my best." She said uncertainly.

The first thing they noticed as they neared the street was the police officers. Several officers and cars were placed around the street, and they had taped off the section the photo contained in hopes of searching and finding something. Sherlock threw a couple of notes at the taxi driver before promptly dashing out of the taxi up to the security tape. Lucy and John followed at a much slower pace, much to Sherlock's annoyance. Under the tape they followed their friend where Lestrade was waiting for them. Suddenly, Lucy gasped.

"What is it?" John queried, frowning.

"I know this street," she murmured, barely audibly. Sherlock and Lestrade turned to face her, surprised at the recognition.

"How do you know it?" The consulting detective asked. She looked up at him and John with wide eyes. With a shaking hand, she lifted her arm and pointed it to the one house that was now filled with police officers.

"What about that house?" Lestrade pressed, he too was confused.

"Have they found something there?" Lucy ignored their questions.

"Yes, we've found something," The detective inspector confirmed.

"Lucy," Sherlock pressed, knowing where this was going but wanting confirmation, "What about that house?"

"I used to live there." She whispered, "That's where my parents died."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note- Thank you so much for the reviews, favourites and alerts! I will now hand out virtual cookies. Oh, in a few days I'm off across the country to Cornwall, so I doubt I will be updating for a week or so. **

**Disclaimer- I own nothing.**

Chapter 11

"_Lucy," Sherlock pressed, knowing where this was going but wanting confirmation, "What about that house?"_

"_I used to live there." She whispered, "That's where my parents died." _

Sherlock's eyes widened in understanding, now the text he had received made sense. The killer was toying with them, taunting them, and it had just become very personal.

"You used to live there?" John said in slight disbelief. The teenager nodded her head, "So you had a lot of money?"

"Yes, my parents had a nice sum of cash," Lucy mumbled, "In fact I inherited it when they died." She seemed a little embarrassed, "That's why I was happy to help pay the rent at 221B, I have the money."

"Lestrade," Sherlock suddenly addressed the police officer, "What was it you found in that house?"

"Well... we found the knife." Greg sighed.

"In my house?" Lucy looked shocked.

"Yeah, it was serrated and covered in blood. It was left lying in the rather spacious kitchen... like it was just waiting to be found." The police officer shrugged.

"It was waiting to be found," Sherlock Holmes muttered, "The killer is really playing the game, finding ways to involve Lucy, I'm not sure why as of yet though. I'm guessing that's the only thing you've found so far, so I'm going to have a look." He started striding off with John, Lucy and Lestrade right behind him. "Make sure you get a fingerprint analysis on the knife, although I highly doubt you'll find anything."

Just before they reached the driveway, Sherlock paused suddenly and turned to Lucy. In a low voice, he started speaking to her, so only she could hear.

"Where was it that your parents were roughly killed?" He asked a little too bluntly.

"About there," Lucy covered a flinch and led him to the left in the approximate spot.

"The killer's were never found were they?" Sherlock questioned.

"No, they weren't. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was wondering whether the people who murdered your parents are the same people murdering these new victims. Maybe as a way to taunt you perhaps?" Sherlock gave a half smile, "It's just a theory, I wouldn't worry too much right now."

Once they made their way inside the house, Lestrade took them to the kitchen where the knife was found- it was still laying there obviously so Sherlock could have a look without getting annoyed at the fact that it would have been moved. He glanced at it, noting the blood stains- some were older and some were newer, but he moved on from it quickly to have a look around. There weren't many items, as Lucy must have either sold them or given them away- however a few things remained. Greg had a notebook out and pen poised at the ready for when Sherlock decided to share information with them.

"That knife is the one that's been used, judging from the different stages of blood stains. However it's not a knife from this kitchen as no knives from the knife set that is left are missing. It's unlikely we will find much else in this room though so follow me and don't talk." Sherlock swept round and stalked out the room- with his black coat billowing behind him. He started to look around the front room of the house, and noted that the DVD player was turned on whereas everything else had longed been turned off. Walking over, he pressed the eject button and found a disc in there; it was one of the Harry Potter movies. But the case for the disc was nowhere in sight. "Lucy, where did you keep your DVD's?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"We used to have them in my old room, but there shouldn't be any there, I got rid of them." She frowned, "So that's where my Harry Potter disc is." The teen muttered.

"You couldn't find it?" John queried.

"No," She sighed, "I cleared most of our stuff out two months back. I had a decent collection of DVD's all in order in their sets. But that film was missing from my Harry Potter set. I had no clue where it was... And I swear I turned the DVD player off." She ran a hand through her hair, "In fact I know I turned it off."

"Take us to your old room," Sherlock requested.

Up the staircase and down the hallway Lucy led them to a closed white door; she hesitated in front of it, turning back to look at Sherlock, John and Lestrade.

"You should know that my room was completely bare when I left it." She told them, "I gave almost everything away to charity and sold the rest. So there shouldn't be anything in here."

"Wait," Lestrade said as she went to open the door, "Tell us what your room looked like when you last saw it- so if it's changed we will all know."

"Okay," Lucy leaned against the corridor wall, "Well it was just... bare. When I left it, the room was just a large square with laminate floorboards and ivory coloured walls. In the centre of the white ceiling hangs a light bulb." She paused, thinking, "To the right is a rectangular window, that covers a good portion of the wall and it looks out over the driveway and onto the street. That's about it really."

"Okay, go on then," Lestrade gestured for her to open it. Lucy glanced at Sherlock's neutral face before opening the door.

Everything was how she described it.

But there was something different. Something that was visibly noticeable.

On the wall directly opposite the wall were two words, painted in what appeared to be blood.

SHERLOCK.

LUCY.

One word below the other, each word was written in block capitals. Small trails of blood were contrasted against the white wall from where the blood had started to drip down.

"Holy shit," John murmured as they stepped into the room.

"Whose blood is that?" Greg thought aloud.

"The victim's. That's why there was a lack of blood at the crime scene. Clearly he collected some." Sherlock told them, he frowned.

"That's disgusting," John mumbled. Sherlock strode towards the wall, but paused, glancing at the window sill to his left hand side.

"Oh, there's the DVD case." He walked over to the window where a Harry Potter film case was propped up against the window. Sherlock inspected it before picking it up and proceeded to open it carefully. Inside, was a scrap of paper that read:

'The abandoned warehouse number 13, by the river, tonight at 10. Remember, you're not the only one who gets bored.'

Sherlock put the disc back into the case, not alerting the other's of his find. He would tell John and Lucy later, but not Lestrade- the police would mess it up. Besides, Sherlock had a feeling he knew where this was going, and Lucy was getting too involved for him to let the slow, useless police try to sort it out.

"Find anything?" Lestrade asked as he eyed up the blood on the wall.

"No," Sherlock lied expertly, "Must have just been a coincidence." Lucy looked at him with a confused expression, so the consulting detective gave her a 'trust me, play along' look.

"I must have forgotten it was there or something." Lucy shrugged, playing along to fool the police officer, "Never mind eh?"

"You sure?" Lestrade looked a little confused.

"I've seen all I need to see," Sherlock announced, avoiding the question, "Let's go."

"Sherlock!" Greg called after him.

"Get an analysis on the knife, you won't find anything but there's nothing else here." Sherlock yelled back, already running down the stairs.

Once safely outside, and away from where the police were standing, Sherlock led his friends to the next street.

"What was that about?" John asked as they came to a standstill.

"I found something," Sherlock told them, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the paper. He showed it to Lucy and John. Lucy nodded in understanding, realising why Sherlock didn't want the police to know about it.

"You bloody idiot," John exclaimed, "You need to tell the police, this could be valuable."

"No John," Sherlock said, "Lucy is getting very much involved in this, too involved for the useless police to take forever finding out what is happening. The killer left this for us, not for them. If the police were alerted to this and turned up at that warehouse, we could lose one of our only chances." He took a breath, "We all need to go there tonight. This is very much for Lucy as it is for me. I'm not sure what we will find there tonight but whatever it is, we will need it. I can't see why the killer will reveal himself already, the game is too elaborate for that... No. He's going to keep giving us clues. And if he does turn up, we most likely won't be able to see him," Now Sherlock was rapidly speaking his thoughts. There was a pause of stunned silence, "I need to speak to Mycroft."

"What?" John almost laughed at this sudden statement.

"I could use his surveillance skills," Sherlock growled, as though he hated to admit he needed his brother.

"I'll give him a call then," John muttered.

"Sherlock," Lucy bit her lip, "This warehouse... What if it's the one that my parents were found in?"

"That's what I was thinking," the tall, dark haired man said, "It's a game. And he's enjoying watching you relive it."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note- Thank you for all the continued support guys! Please leave a little review if you liked it as it gives me the motivation to keep on writing. And we have 2860 views already on this story! I can't believe it!**

**This will be the last chapter I can write before I go to Cornwall (because I don't plan my stories, I make it up as I go along which I probably shouldn't do!)**

**Disclaimer- *Finishes biscuits and puts down mug of coffee on the table. Clears throat and puts on sunglasses and with a smirk says* I own Sherlock and all of its characters. *Moffat walks in with his crown of fan girl skulls and glares at me* fine *takes off sunglasses and gives them to Moffat. Sighs* as much as I would like to own Sherlock and keep him forever... I don't. Nothing is mine. *Goes back to pretending Sherlock lives with me in my fantasy world.***

Chapter 12

By the time Sherlock had easily hailed a cab, John had already spoken to Mycroft- who would be promptly awaiting their arrival back at 221B Baker Street.

"You never go to your brother for help." John stated on the ride home.

"Yes, well he can come in handy on occasion." Sherlock muttered, shrugging indifferently as though it wasn't a big thing. "And he'll do whatever I request... within reason."

"Why would he?" John Watson frowned, confused at the new information on the Holmes' brothers' relationship.

"Because we are family, he does care believe it or not. I'm the only family he's got; mummy always wanted him to look after me like a big brother should." Sherlock smirked, "Besides, he seems quite taken with Lucy and he likes you John. Should either of you be in danger he'll be sure to help."

"Well that's news to me," John shifted so he wasn't squashing Lucy quite so much in the slightly cramped back of the taxi.

"Of course we are bitter rivals," Sherlock suddenly decided that it was important to reiterate that point.

"What?" Lucy exclaimed in confusion, "You just made it sound like you are the best of friends and now you say he's your rival?"

"Make your mind up Sherlock," John grinned.

A sleek black car was parked not too far from the front door of 221B; alerting them to the fact that Mycroft was, indeed, already in their flat.

"Mycroft's here," John said.

"Stating the obvious," Sherlock muttered, earning himself a sigh and a glare. After they unlocked the door, the three scaled the stairs up to their flat where the older Holmes' brother was sat drinking tea with Mrs Hudson. Of course Sherlock decided to make a comment:

"I do hope you haven't given him too many cakes Mrs Hudson, once he starts he can't quite stop as you can see from his appearance." Mycroft shot his brother a withering look, but ignored him.

"John, Lucy, lovely to see you again." He greeted in his formal way.

"Hello Mycroft," Lucy smiled at him. John greeted him in the same way. "Hi Mrs Hudson." She bent down to give their landlady a welcome hug.

"Oh Lucy dear, how is everything? Settled in?" She asked.

"Yes I have thank you."

"Are you surviving living with those two? I don't know how you do it, all the experiments in the kitchen. I keep telling them I'm not their housekeeper, but I always end up cleaning up anyway." She looked over fondly at her other two favourite tenants.

"It's certainly never dull round here," Lucy grinned and joked: "And they're not too bad. It's bearable."

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock spoke, "As lovely as it is to see you, could we have some privacy?"

"Oh yes, of course," The landlady took her cue to leave, as everyone said goodbye.

"I suppose you haven't called on me for a brotherly visit?" Mycroft guessed, running his fingers absentmindedly around the edge of his tea cup.

"You know where we've just come from," Sherlock muttered as he flung himself into a seat, "John make me some tea."

"Please," John prompted.

"Yes, that, thank you." Sherlock ignored the prompt, but he said 'thank you' so John complied.

"Do you want one Lucy?" John asked.

"Yes, two sugars please," she requested.

"At least she has manners," The doctor mumbled under his breath- but audible enough for them to hear. Sherlock just shifted to glance at his friend fleetingly before going back to looking at his brother.

"In answer, yes, you've just come from Lucy's old home." Mycroft said.

"How do you know where we've just been?" Lucy queried, looking surprised and confused at how he knew what they were doing.

"I have my people following you lot." Mycroft casually said as though it was perfectly normal to do this sort of thing, "I have to make sure my little brother doesn't get himself and you into too much trouble." Lucy just nodded, thinking to herself that she should be used to the Holmes' strange ways by now.

Once John had brought Sherlock and Lucy their tea, he too sat down and listened as Sherlock proceeded to briefly inform Mycroft and catch him up to what was happening with the murders. He showed him the note that was left for them in the Harry Potter film case. The consulting detective also gave Mycroft his theory on the fact that the killer could be the same person that killed Lucy's parents, and that if the warehouse was the same one in which her parents were found- then there was a possibility that the teenager was in danger considering the fact that a murderer was playing a rather sadistic game with her.

"This could get very dangerous, very quickly Sherlock." Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I know. Which is why I'm asking that you keep a few of your people near us at all times tonight."

"I can do that. What else is it you need?"

"Surveillance. We need as much surveillance as possible around the area. I wouldn't usually do this, but it's getting personal with Lucy." Sherlock told him, glancing at the teenager once.

"Very well. I don't know how many cameras will be stationed there at the moment. But if you like I can get some of my people down there right now to set up some in and around the warehouses." Mycroft suggested.

"Yes, that would be great." Sherlock agreed. "That's all we'll need."

"I'll give them a call in a moment. But Sherlock, for goodness sake, be careful. If you need anything, if you get either yourself or John or Lucy into trouble go to one of the cars and call me. I'll have three cars near you at all times, one for each of you should you get split up." This had to have been the most caring thing John had ever heard Mycroft say.

"Thank you," Sherlock thanked his brother with kindness that surprised his brother, John and Lucy.

"Well I best be off," Mycroft announced, setting his cup of finished tea on the table as he stood up, "I have some people to call and a country to run. Be careful tonight. Goodbye Sherlock, John, Lucy." He smiled at them in his usual way before taking his leave.

"Bye Mycroft," John and Lucy said, whereas Sherlock just nodded at him.

"John, where's your gun?" Sherlock asked.

"In my room," he replied.

"You have a gun?" Lucy frowned.

"Have to be able to protect myself when around this thing here," John teased as he poked Sherlock, who glared at him in protest.

"Each of us should take a gun tonight," Sherlock thought aloud as he paced around the room, "Like Mycroft said, we need to be careful."

"You can't give Lucy a gun!" John exclaimed.

"She has no other way to protect herself from a killer." Sherlock shot back. "I have a couple in my room that I pinched from the police at Scotland Yard."

"And what if I get kidnapped anyways? What if they sneak up behind me?" Lucy sighed.

"Then you only have to hope that one of us is with you and that it doesn't happen." Sherlock said.

It was about five in the evening when Sherlock started getting ready, he was slightly on edge, like he was just waiting for something to happen. He'd already shown Lucy how to use a gun, much to John's annoyance. But because Lucy didn't want to kill anyone, the ex army doctor advised her how to shoot the legs and feet so that they would be unable to chase after her. Every now and then, Sherlock either glanced at his phone or checked his watch, anxiously counting down the minutes until they would leave at nine o'clock. John and Lucy had gone out to grab something to eat with Mrs Hudson downstairs. Sherlock, of course, refused to eat anything; he was on a case and he couldn't let something as trivial as digestion slow him down.

Not long after his friends went downstairs, did Sherlock's phone beep with a text message. He frowned at it as it interrupted the peaceful quiet of the flat. With caution, he picked up his phone and opened the message:

I like this little game of ours, and Lucy is such a good player. Unless she breaks down. Warehouse thirteen... it's an unlucky number after all.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the text. Another beep broke through the silence, this time it was a picture message. With a frustrated huff, Sherlock downloaded the image before looking at it.

The picture was based in what Sherlock assumed was the abandoned warehouse, it didn't look like much. It was deserted and left void of pretty much anything, not that you could see much due to the fact that it was pitch black. But Sherlock noted, with growing anticipation, that in the middle of the room it looked like two bodies had been placed there. If they were bodies, then it would be safe to presume that this was the warehouse in which Lucy's parents were found. With a spring in his step he raced downstairs to find John and Lucy, when another text came through. Sherlock looked at the phone in confusion; he never received that many texts or clues from the killer. The message read:

Leave now. I can't wait.

Sherlock stopped in his steps in shock, before swiftly barging into Mrs Hudson's flat. John, Lucy and his landlady turned to look at him in surprise.

"John, Lucy, we're leaving now," he announced, "I just got a couple of texts." He went to go out the room back up to the flat, but realised that they were still sat there in confusion and shock. "There's no time to explain. We need to leave now!"

As they hurriedly got ready for the hours that lay ahead of them, Sherlock had to wonder whether they would all come back in one piece. With a glance at Lucy, he knew that the killer was out to break her, and that nothing would stop him from hurting her until she could no longer cope. Maybe that was his plan. A cut to the neck and wrists. Maybe that was a taunt at her self harm. Either way, he had to protect Lucy. She was far too vulnerable; and John knew this too. If things went badly wrong, it may be Lucy who would be lying on the morgue table with a cut to her neck and wrists. But no. Just no. He was the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. And he would be damned if he let some stupid killer get the better of him.

**Author's note- So I leave you on a teensy cliff hanger that will hopefully leave you wanting more. But as I said, I'm off on holiday and I can't take this laptop (as it's my mum's...) So leave a review if you like it, and if I get enough, I'll do my best to get another chapter up as quickly as possible ;)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note- So I got back from holiday yesterday and decided that I better update before I get murdered by a certain reviewer ;) Ha, so thanks for the reviews, favourites and alerts; we now have almost 3500 views! **

**Oh, uh, I feel really bad because on Friday I'm going to my dad's for ten days... which uh... means that I won't be able to update for a while... But I promise to update as much as possible this week and the week after I visit my dad's! I'm sorry. *hides behind the sofa and cowers in the corner.***

**I should also mention that this story doesn't really fit in anywhere in the actual episodes. It's based definitely after series one, but it's as though the Reichenbach fall never happened if that makes sense.**

**Disclaimer- As much as I would like to have Sherlock in my room to love forever... I can't, and won't. I own nothing and I wish the disclaimer didn't have to keep reminding me of that fact.**

Chapter 13 (they're visiting warehouse 13 on chapter 13... oh wow)

Night was rapidly approaching. Dark hues obscured the once bright light of the day as the stars and moon took claim of the night sky. Unfortunately, it seemed to give a somewhat eerie edge to the impending danger. Of course, it could turn out that the killer wouldn't show up, and would merely leave them with the bodies and nothing more. But that didn't seem his style. Oh no, this one liked the game. He relished the satisfaction of proving his skills, and loved to show off. Sherlock wouldn't put it past him (or her for that matter) to show himself, albeit fleetingly, just a teaser for what would be to come.

On the way out of the flat into the cold streets of London, the trio were slightly relieved to observe three suspicious looking, sleek, black cars parked ominously across the street; each, slightly farther apart from the other two as to avoid being too inconspicuous. To many people it would mean nothing, to a few, it would seem odd but nothing anyways. However, to Sherlock, John and Lucy, it meant Mycroft was on his game as well. It meant imminent protection should they need it, cover, if they needed a place to run to. The cars followed the cab they were in, the drivers doing their best to not make it seem like they were deliberately following them. Sherlock had ordered the taxi driver to stop a few blocks away from where he knew the warehouses were based. Mycroft's cars, on the other hand, carried on driving.

"Remember, once inside, don't talk," Sherlock reminded them for what felt like the tenth time that minute.

"We know," John muttered matching his pace to that of the detective's long strides.

"We have to proceed with caution," Sherlock carried on anyway, "Should we alert them to our presence too soon we may miss a rare opportunity to catch them. Stay close to me, and if you lose sight of me, stay close to one another. It's imperative that you are with someone at all times, especially Lucy. I'll be fine on my own of course- but I prefer to know where you two are. If you split from each other, then immediately either do your best to find each other within a few minutes; failing that, go to one of Mycroft's cars."

"Where did the cars go?" Lucy asked in a small voice, her tone shook with anxiety.

"Just there," Sherlock answered as they rounded the corner, pointing a slender finger.

They were now in full view of the warehouses that were placed in the open concrete grounds with evidence that a wired metal gate was once place around it. Some warehouses were smaller than others and each had a numbered sign above the entrance. Most were made from metal or something of the sort, others were made from bricks. All of them looked barren and as though they hadn't been in use for some time. The moonlight shone down, illuminating very few dark corners where the lights around the grounds didn't reach. One would hate to be alone there. On the street they had turned into, were the three black cars that were now stationed in position should their assistance be required. They were parked opposite the warehouse site in the shadows, so inevitably their presence was hidden from the lack of lighting as the vehicles lurked in the inky blackness.

Sherlock stopped for a moment, seeming to debate something in his mind. He reached inside his coat pocket for his phone.

"What are you doing?" John asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

"I'm phoning Lestrade," The consulting detective replied with a hint of reluctance.

"What on earth for?" His flatmate was confused, "You never want to phone him."

"I need to alert the police in case this goes wrong. Just listen to the conversation." It was then that Sherlock decided to put the phone on loudspeaker- but he turned the volume down so it was just loud enough for his companions to hear.

"Hello?" Greg answered after a couple of rings.

"Lestrade, I need you to do me a favour." Sherlock spoke.

"Sherlock?" The DI said, confused, "What is it?"

"If I don't message you within the next hour, come to warehouse thirteen."

"What? Why? Where's that?" Poor Greg was clearly at a loss as to what was going on.

"Warehouse thirteen, the one in which Mr and Mrs Patterson's bodies were found."

"Lucy's parents? They're her parents?" Lestrade exclaimed. "Shit, but why?"

"It's to do with the recent murders." Sherlock said, annoyed, "Look if you don't hear anything from me within an hour, go there."

"Why are you there Sherlock? Is it to do with what you found in that house? I knew you found something you idiot."

"Look, trust me, this could go horribly wrong if the police are to get involved which is why you aren't here now. This is about Lucy and me, it's a personal game."

"Are you going to explain it?"

"Later," Sherlock growled. "Just, will you do that for us?"

"Fine," Lestrade sighed, "But I'm expecting a bloody good explanation."

With a beep, Sherlock hung up on the least idiotic member of the police force. He took a breath and put the phone back in its pocket. Looking at the wide eyed faces of his two friends, his gave a half smile as he signalled for them to follow him. None of them said anything as they made their way onto the grounds of the warehouses.

The three noiselessly worked their way around each dilapidated building to find a brick warehouse with the number '13' placed high above it. They paused just short of it. Sherlock glanced around him and observed the security cameras Mycroft's men had recently placed. There were five in total, one he noticed on the main entrance to the grounds, the other four in positions around the specified warehouse so that none of the building went unseen by the watchful eye of the cameras. No doubt there were more inside, but he would worry about that later. He glanced back at Lucy, whose face had turned an unhealthy white- although in the circumstances it was understandable. Her hand was drawn up to her face where she seemed to be lightly biting the skin. It appeared to be a slightly unconscious action, but John (who had also noticed this) was giving her worried and concerned glances. But both men knew it was down to the anxiety that currently plagued her young mind.

With a deeper breath than usual, Sherlock Holmes started forward, into the opened door of warehouse thirteen, with John Watson and Lucy Patterson not far behind.

It was dark, extremely dark and it took their eyes a while to adjust to the sudden difference in light. At least outside they had the lights and moon to illuminate the world around them, but the grubby windows of the building let barely any light through. They had walked into a single room, the only room in the entire warehouse. Obviously it was of a considerable size, large and wide. A staircase across the room led to a strong wooden walkway on a higher level that extended all the way around the room; this was supported by numerous pillars in a neat line around the inside of the building. As on the ground, it was incredibly dark up there, and for all the three flatmates knew, there could be several of killers hiding in the shadows up there. The darkness was dangerous; it gave the killer an edge. The three proceeded with caution into the open a little more, each walking very close to each other in a line. As they got closer to the middle, they realised that there was something on the floor.

Sherlock recognised it as what he presumed were bodies from the picture he received earlier. And, on closer inspection, he was proved correct. Two adult bodies, one male, one female, lay very much dead in the room- that is, if they were even real.

"What a beautiful night." A female voice suddenly said, the voice echoed in the deserted building. It was, however, a recorded voice. Sherlock frowned at this.

"Who are you?" He called out.

"Do you want to play a game?" The female recorded voice said again. Lucy suddenly gasped in horror, tears starting to trail down her cheeks.

"I said who are you?" Sherlock shouted, hearing Lucy's gasp and wondering what she knew.

"Let's play, Guess Who." This time, it was a male recorded voice. At this, Lucy's knees seemed to buckle as she fell to the ground, her head in her hands, sobbing. With realisation, Sherlock's eyes widened; the recorded voices were the voices of Lucy's parents. John had knelt down to attempt to calm the distraught teenager, but he looked at Sherlock with an expression of confusion.

"Who is doing this?" Sherlock said, getting angry, "How did you get Lucy's parent's voices on record?"

"It's just a game." The male recorded voice spoke again. As soon as the sentence finished, a blinding spot light was cast down upon the two bodies in the middle. Lucy cried out as the face's of her parent's glared up from their place on the cold stone floor. Sherlock's mind was a whir of thoughts. How had the killer gotten the bodies? Had he used face masks? Each body had been presented as the news had shown it, with a single bullet hole to the head. But something didn't seem right, they were real bodies. The bullet hole, although it looked convincing, was not the size the particular bullet would have made if it had entered- it was far too small. So it was a fake body. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. But it was an odd mistake to make- so maybe it was purposeful, to toy with him. Also, the only way the killer could have gotten the recordings of the voices would be if he had set up a microphone recording in their house in the time that they were still alive. After all, the way they said the words seemed like how people would just talk to one another if they did want to play a game. Unless... Sherlock's eyes widened. But before he could say anything, a voice spoke up from somewhere in the room (although he couldn't place where, but it was likely he was up on the wooden walkway), though this time it was a voice he recognised. That voice, he was wondering when he'd hear it again; it sent a wave of both anger, and interest through him.

"Oh how I've missed our little games Sherlock."

"Moriarty." Sherlock growled the name with both a hint of excitement and distaste.

"It's been a while huh. Missed me?" He taunted from the shadows.

"What do you want?"

"Oh come on now Sherlock, haven't you missed me? Not even the tiniest bit?" Moriarty teased, "I bet Lucy has."

"Lucy doesn't know you. Show yourself!" Sherlock yelled.

"I recognise his voice," Lucy said softly, still on the floor in despair.

"You must remember me. I'm Uncle Jim." Moriarty sang the last sentence in his usual sing song way. Lucy gasped with realisation, and fought to keep her breathing under control.

"How do you know her?" Sherlock demanded, slightly confused.

"Oh, her parents were naughty people. I like naughty people." You could practically hear the sadistic grin in Jim Moriarty's voice, "But never mind that, Uncle wants to play!"

"He's a bad man Sherlock," Lucy hissed, fear in her voice, "He made my parent's do bad things."

"You parent's did bad things themselves," Jim roared, "They came to me to help to do even worse. They enjoyed it." His voice turned sing song again, "But they hurt Uncle Jim's feelings. They stole from me. No one steals from me." His voice had turned sinister and threatening, "I made sure they paid."

"You killed them?" Lucy yelled, incredulous.

"Oh, sweetie, I didn't kill them," He mocked, "Just like I never killed any of those people you lot have been looking at recently."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock was getting frustrated, while John just didn't know what to do or say. He was saddened that Lucy had the misfortune to have known Moriarty beforehand- for a while it seemed, and to hear all this wasn't going to help her mental state.

"Her parent's never loved her." Jim said, uncaringly, "They said they did but it was all lies!" He sang gleefully at Lucy's pain, dancing around in the shadows to avoid detection, "They preferred crime to their daughter. How does that feel?" He laughed, causing Sherlock to snarl.

"We love you Lucy," the recorded voice of the mother sounded, followed by the same sentence in her dad's voice.

"Stop it!" Lucy yelled.

"Leave her alone!" Sherlock said in defence of his friend.

"Oh but I love to torture," Moriarty laughed, "I'm enjoying this game. You'll be hearing from me Sherlock."

"So you killed all those people just to taunt Lucy?" Sherlock yelled in outrage.

"Honey, I may be the king of my profession, but I don't like getting my hands dirty." Footsteps sounded as he started walking away, "Get her Seb."

The spotlight vanished, and the sound of a door opening and closing signalled Moriarty's exit before Sherlock launched off, sprinting after his enemy.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, getting up. But he was shoved violently over by a masked individual; with a thud he fell to the floor and groaned as he attempted to get up. Having bashed his head slightly, he was a little disorientated, and his vision blurred.

"John!" Lucy screamed out as she was roughly grabbed, her voice became muffled as something- most likely a rope was swiftly tied around her mouth with expert precision. A gunshot sounded out, and one of the men near Lucy cursed loudly and violently before yelling from pain.

"The fucking bitch shot my leg," the gruff voice said, "Just get her away Seb." So this 'Seb' was still unharmed. But John, in his stupor, felt a burst of pride in the poor teenager. She had been traumatised enough this evening, but had still gone on to fire an ace shot, just as instructed. However, the sound of a gun hitting the floor sounded out as John's vision cleared. It had taken approximately fifteen seconds for him to become fully coherent, but as soon as he could see and move straight again, he was horrified to witness a bulky, tall man- presumably Seb, dragging the teenager away. Lucy- whose limbs had been bound- could do nothing as she was taken away. John yelled out and ran towards her- but he was tackled by another of Moriarty's henchmen.

With bitter realisation, John thought that they must have snuck in and hid in the shadows, biding their time to attack. They hadn't been careful enough.

"Lucy!" John called her name, but it was useless. The man went to punch John as he got up, but the ex army doctor dodged with ease and sent a punch to the man's nose- breaking it. John brought his elbow down on the man's shoulder, and kicked the back's of his knees- bringing him to the floor. The man attempted to swing round, but John grabbed the pressure points at the back of the neck and shoulder region. He squeezed, as he the sick bastard's eyes closed in pain, holding on long enough would make him pass out- so he did so. With a bit of left behind rope, John bound the man's limbs and just left him there as he hurriedly ran outside to find Lucy.

It had been almost an hour; Lestrade would be coming soon- thank God. But there were no signs of where Lucy or Seb could have gone to. With a sinking feeling in his heart, he reckoned that she had most likely been taken away. Kidnapped. But what for? Moriarty loved to torture, maybe that was his plan?

"Shit." John mumbled. His heart broke for the poor kid, and adrenaline coursed through him, wondering what to do now. He saw the three cars across the street and wondered how on earth they didn't notice her being taken away.

Footsteps were rapidly approaching; someone was running towards him. John swivelled round, ready to fight again, but the person held up their hands.

"It's me," Sherlock said, frowning, "Moriarty got away, I don't know how. Where's Lucy."

"I don't know," John could barely get the words out, too scared for his young friend, "She was taken by 'Seb.'"

"What?" Sherlock said uncertainly with disbelief.

"I got attacked; my head got bashed so I was disorientated. She fired a shot at a man and put a bullet in his leg," Sherlock smirked at this, but John carried on, "She got bound and gagged, and I was attacked before I could stop it." The doctor's voice got choked at the end.

"There was nothing you could do," Sherlock murmured. He looked around, "But surely Mycroft's cameras or cars picked it up."

"Apparently not."

"Let's get to one of them, before anything else happens- although I doubt it will." They hurriedly set off. "Where is the bloke who attacked you?"

"Bound and gagged on the floor of the warehouse." John answered bluntly.

Sherlock couldn't believe it- or understand it for that matter. But some feeling inside him told him that it hurt. That he hadn't protected Lucy like he perhaps should have. He only hoped that whatever Moriarty planned to do with her wouldn't damage her more than she already was.

They both got into the back seat of one of the black cars parked outside.

"We need to call Mycroft," Sherlock said to John, "You call him." John set about dialling the number as Sherlock now spoke directly to the driver, "It didn't go to plan, we need to wait here until DI Lestrade arrives." He informed him. The driver just nodded and said:

"Whatever you need Mr Holmes."

"Did none of you see anyone leave? You didn't see Lucy with any of Moriarty's men?"

"No sir, we didn't see a thing," The driver was confused but didn't press the issue. The detective nodded and sighed.

John started explaining very briefly to Mycroft as Sherlock got his own phone out to call Lestrade.

"Sherlock," The DI answered, "I'm already on my way with a few officers, it's been an hour."

"We need you and... them," Sherlock admitted with distaste for the rest of Scotland Yard, "It went wrong."

"You bloody idiot, what happened?"

"Moriarty happened." There was a silence of horror, "They kidnapped Lucy. I do believe the kidnapper is one Sebastian Moran."

"Shit," Greg cursed, "We'll be there in five minutes, explain then."

Sherlock hung up just as John finished speaking to the elder Holmes brother. Both flatmates had the same worried look on their faces, although Sherlock did an expert job of quickly hiding it.

"Your brother is on his way," John muttered, "He's pissed. He doesn't know how it happened. Apparently there were a few brief blackout periods on the cameras, he doesn't know how; he said that it would take a lot to override the surveillance there. Moriarty would be capable but he doesn't know how." He sighed, "Could they have escaped the other side considering the guys in the cars didn't see anything?"

"It's all river that side... oh," Sherlock stopped, "The river..."

"They escaped by boat?" John frowned, "Doesn't seem very Moriarty-like."

"But it means that he'd avoid detection," Sherlock raised his eyebrows. They sat in silence, unsure what to do next. "I don't know how this happened," Sherlock seemed very angry with himself, "How did I let this happen? Stupid. Stupid." He told himself, "Now she will probably get hurt because of me. We have to find her."

"It's no-one's fault," John sighed and rubbed his face, "If Moriarty wanted to do it, then he would do it regardless."

"What if she gets worse?" Sherlock growled, "Her mental state isn't going to be perfect is it?"

"We will do whatever to help her. But right now, we need to find her." John found himself surprised by the display of emotions.

At that moment, a torrent of police sirens sounded as several cars whipped around the corner onto the same street as the two friends. They stopped near Mycroft's cars and Sherlock saw Lestrade get out- but he groaned when he saw Anderson and Donovan of all people. But nonetheless, he and John got out and walked towards them.

"Look what you've done now freak." Donovan greeted them.

"Piss off," Sherlock snarled with ferocity that shocked all of them.

"Donovan, enough," Lestrade warned her, he turned to the other officer's, "Everyone over here now." He turned to Sherlock and John "If you can tell us what happened, the sooner we can get to finding Lucy."

They turned to stare as a black Mercedes pulled up next to them. Mycroft Holmes stepped elegantly out of the car with his trademark umbrella, a cryptic expression on his face.

"Well now that everyone's here, we might as well start," Sherlock said bitterly as his brother joined them.

"I already have our best people looking for her," Mycroft informed him.

"It won't be enough though!" Sherlock suddenly yelled, "She's still going to get emotionally hurt. She's under the capture of Moriarty and his bastards. God knows what will happen to her. What if she turns up dead? What if she gets badly injured? This shouldn't have happened in the first place, it's my fault she's been taken." Everyone was stunned into silence at this outburst, "We needed to have prevented this, or have found her now. We can't ensure she'll be fine."

"Wow, the freak has emotions," Sally joked half-heartedly.

"Fuck off." Sherlock spat.

"Sherlock calm down, you're of no use to Lucy in this state." John tried to calm his friend down. Sherlock looked at him, his very first friend. And instantly shut up, he felt a bit embarrassed at everyone hearing that, but decided to spare his dignity for later.

"Fine," the consulting detective started, "I guess I better tell you what happened," back to his usual self he added, "If any of you idiots can write I suggest you take notes because I highly doubt that any of your brains have the capacity sufficient enough to even remember your own names let alone whatever I say."


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note- Thanks for the continued support everyone! Please leave just a little review if you like it. Wow, I wrote a lot more than usual for the last chapter. **

**There's a warning for violence and stuff like that in here.**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing as previously stated, and if you haven't realised that by now then I will have to call you Anderson for being so inevitably stupid.**

Chapter 14

For once, the police officers were quiet as they listened to Sherlock's brief but informative account of the past few hours' events. While they kept their faces composed, John couldn't help the flashes of pain and guilt that crept onto his usually calm expression.

"We expect that they escaped by boat on the river opposite," Sherlock ended, "After all, Mycroft's cars didn't see anyone exit the grounds." With a frown, the younger man turned to his brother: "Speaking of which, why on earth didn't your cameras pick up anything?"

"I'm not entirely sure," the elder Holmes' started with a sigh, "The cameras all around had two brief moments of blackout. First of all, when we expect they entered the building, and second when they took Lucy. The screens that were being observed went static before losing signal for several moments before being restored again as though nothing happened." He looked down at his umbrella as though it was incredibly interesting.

"Right," Lestrade shouted to his team, "We need half of you to search the river, get a speedboat if necessary, we don't know how far they would have travelled. Some stay on land. Everyone else search the warehouse grounds for any clues; footprints etcetera."

Just as the police were about to set off to work, Sherlock's phone went off with a message. Everyone hesitated as he took out his phone. With a tight voice the consulting detective read it out loud:

"Don't bother looking. I'll be done with her very shortly." Sherlock winced.

"What could he mean by that?" John asked quietly.

"Well it depends on what he will be 'done' with," Mycroft muttered, leaning on his umbrella.

"What if she gets raped?" Sherlock suddenly murmured, going through all the possibilities in his mind as to what Moriarty could mean.

"Sherlock," John warned gently, "It's unlikely he'd do that."

"But it's a possibility," he countered, unintentionally snapping at his friend. The police team were motionless, watching the exchange. They jumped as Sherlock's phone beeped again. There was a pause, "It's a video of some sort." Sherlock told them, not wanting to see what the video contained but needing to see it anyway.

"Play it," Greg said, "It could be of some use to finding her."

"But he said that there was no point in looking," Sherlock sighed, "Presumably we won't find her until he lets her go."

"Play it anyway Sherlock," Mycroft ordered, earning himself a withering look. Regardless, everyone (including the police force) crowded around Sherlock's mobile phone to get a look at what had been sent. John placed his hand in an attempted comforting action on his flatmates arm; his friend didn't shrug it off, but instead gave him a rare half smile of genuine gratefulness. It worried John a lot by how affected Sherlock seemed to be- but then again, he would react the same if it were John. With a tentative touch, he pressed the button for the video to play.

A room, concrete by the looks of it appeared on the small phone screen. Its colours were a dull, repetitive gray; and in essence it was entirely unfriendly looking. But never mind the room itself with its one window covered with bars letting through little light; what was in the centre of the room facing the camera was what was upsetting. Lucy was sitting alone, tied to an uncomfortable wooden chair by her legs and arms. Her mouth was no longer gagged though, but the state she was in was pretty awful. The teenager looked terrified, her face was pale and her eyes were darting nervously around the room.

Sherlock stared emotionlessly at the video, but inside, he knew it hurt. John had clenched his fists by now and gritted his teeth to avoid shouting in rage.

Suddenly a voice emitted from the mobile's speakers.

"Smile for the camera," Jim Moriarty sang as he entered the room, still hiding in the shadows. Lucy's head turned at a fast pace to look at the man now entering the light beside her.

Sherlock, John and Mycroft grimaced at the face they knew so well. The police force –especially Lestrade- knew who Moriarty was, but with professionalism they maintained their mask- showing little emotion for now.

Moriarty grinned and gave a sarcastic wave to the camera positioned in the room. But he turned sharply to the frightened girl:

"Don't think of uttering a single word or I'll make this worse for you." But then his smile came back, "They can see you, you know. Your little friends are watching this as we speak."

"It's a live stream," Sherlock growled to the police force.

"Right everyone off now!" Lestrade yelled at the gathered officers, "Do the work I told you to do and find her!" They all left quickly and Lestrade once again turned his full attention to the live stream.

"Enjoy the show!" Jim said cheerfully to the camera before patting Lucy on the head like a dog and taking his leave.

Not a moment later, an unnamed man entered the room, stalking towards the teenager in the chair with a threatening stance.

"That's Seb." John whispered.

The man- Sebastian Moran- stared at the shaking girl with a wild ferocity in his malice filled eyes. Silent, but deadly, he came up behind her and said (just loud enough for the audience to hear back at the warehouses):

"The boss wants you to suffer; embarrassment, guilt. Your secret will be revealed for your little friends to see." Sebastian withdrew a pair of scissors- presumably from his pocket and began to cut away at Lucy's long sleeved top. With horror, Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Lestrade watched on. Her flatmates knew what was coming but even they found it hurt the same each time they saw it. First, Seb started with the arms, one after the other, the sleeves were cut off and fell into a pile on the floor exposing her skin. He paused at the bandages underneath before mercilessly ripping them off. Then, surprising the consulting detective and his blogger, and cut away the stomach part of the clothing- so it now looked very much like a crop top.

Cuts were exposed to the four people watching the phone. Many were red, others were scars. Not only were they littered all over her arms- but on her flat stomach too. Together they traced an unexplainable pattern on her skin- a story almost. Lucy audibly whimpered- doing her best to avoid protesting so that she didn't make things worse for herself.

"Jesus." Lestrade murmured, looking sadly at the live stream.

"Did you know about this?" Mycroft asked both his brother and John.

"We did," John answered for them, his voice quiet and sad.

"How have your 'people' not found her yet Mycroft?" Sherlock suddenly shouted.

"They're doing their best," his brother assured him.

"They aren't trying hard enough." The younger Holmes' said bitterly.

Lucy tried to keep her breathing even in an attempt to control her anxiety and the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her. She hated knowing that they were watching her, staring at the scars on her marred skin. Chances are it wasn't just her flatmates watching either. She winced, watching with scared eyes as a man named 'Seb' walked around her. The footsteps suddenly stopped. There was a pause in which Lucy tensed her whole body.

The wait was unbearable.

"Aaahh!" Lucy screamed out in absolute agony as a metal pipe whacked into the skin of her arms- opening up the healing cuts, making beads of blood come to the surface, trailing down her white skin. Her eyes widened at her mistake.

"I thought my boss told you not to talk!" Seb snarled before striking her legs. Lucy bit back another scream- but it turned out to be more of a choked sob. Cringing at the thought that her friends were having to watch this, she glanced at her arms and assessed the damage. It wasn't too bad, it had opened up all fresh or scabbed cuts, and would most likely leave a bruise (the same for her legs) but nothing was broken... luckily. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and cheek hard as a way to endure the following hits on her arms and legs. Each was as painful as the last- if not more. It felt like hours she had been sat there getting beaten, but only a few minutes later she opened her eyes as it stopped. Lucy's arms were red and stinging; her legs were undoubtedly the same. She let out a breath which almost sounded like a mixture of a whimper and a hiss.

"Did you enjoy that?" Seb taunted.

"Fuck off." She retaliated, but groaned as she slipped up yet again. Seb glared at her and muttered something that sounded like 'cocky bitch' before walking into the shadows and picking up something that scraped against the concrete floor. As he came back into sight, Lucy noted, with horror, that he now held a jagged edged knife in his hands- not unlike the one found in the kitchen of her old house.

"You have two options," Seb started, his voice gruff and menacing, "Either you cut yourself or I cut you. You can speak."

"Not much of a choice," she snapped. "I'm hardly going to do it myself am I?" Seb raised an eyebrow.

"You fucking emo freak," he muttered. But nonetheless he untied her hands, "One wrong move and your dead." Holding out her arm he pressed the edge of the knife on the topside- away from the big veins. Lucy sucked in a deep breath as he jabbed the knife in, dragging it across with agonising slowness. He seemed to sickly relish the torture. Lucy cried out as he drew it up and out with a flick. "Shut up," he growled. This time, he flipped her arm over, so that the pale underside was facing upwards. The blue veins were just visible, and it gave him a sadistic smirk. A little below the wrist, he repeated the action.

"Ah stop!" Lucy cried out, unable to control her screaming any longer.

"No, you should be used to it after all." Seb said, smirking. No trace of compassion in his cold voice. At this, she flinched and cried out as it caused the knife to go deeper. Blood was freely flowing down her arms as he chucked away the knife, satisfied with his two cuts.

"Why are you doing this?" She moaned.

"The boss wanted entertainment for this evening, and to hurt your pathetic friends." Suddenly his eyes went bright, "Looks like it's time for the video. Don't think of moving." He laughed maniacally before taking his leave. In front of Lucy, projected on the wall was a video. She briefly wondered how everyone else would be able to see this, but then realised that there was most likely another camera angled to get a look at it.

Lucy felt the tears flow down her cheeks as he parents appeared on the screen. She fought back the dizziness and the darkness, determined to get through this. The angle of the camera that was fixed on her parents gave the impression of a hidden one, but even so, it had a good shot of the two.

"She's in the way." Her father- David- muttered to her mother- Lily. "She's holding us back. He said we could do great things if she wasn't here."

"And you believe everything Jim says?" Lily asked critically.

"Lucy is a hindrance." He snapped, "Having to look after her means we can't get the money we need." Lily's eyes widened in realisation, and her hand flew to her face.

"You idiot! You were the one that stole from Jim!" She gasped, "We're going to be killed."

"I'd rather kill Lucy," he mumbled, uncaringly, "If it weren't for her I wouldn't have had to."

"You don't love her?"

"Of course I don't." He yelled. David's eyes narrowed, "Don't tell me you are letting sentiment and love for that thing get in the way."

"I feel the same as you," she murmured, after a painful pause. Although it appeared she regretted the words, she shrugged and smiled. David noticeably sighed in relief before walking out.

The video flickered before turning off. All that could be heard were Lucy's broken sobs as they wracked her body, the tears failing to cease trailing down her pale cheeks. Everything she had known... was a lie. Her heart and stomach had dropped. It was like her body wasn't even hers. The world was spinning. Lucy's captors never wanted to do much physical damage- but it was the emotional damage that they truly wanted to inflict...

And they had won.

She couldn't breathe. The surreal feeling of the situation made it seem light a horrid dream. Black clouds started to obscure her vision. Not that it mattered anymore. She just wanted to fade away. To feel nothing. She was numb all over.

The teen was aware of someone entering the room and the voice of Jim Moriarty said:

"Let her go." Before someone- presumably Seb- picked something up.

A sickening thud sounded and there was a blinding pain in her head before Lucy welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness with a surge of gratefulness.

No one knew what to say. Not Sherlock, not John, not Mycroft, not Lestrade. No-one. It was deathly silent. And to make matters worse, still no-one had found the location of her; and for that matter, the forensic team hadn't found anything either. There were reports of a boat leaving the warehouses, but no-one had seen or heard anything else. What was there to say? They all felt anger, outrage... and sadness. How would she cope? This was going to break her. All the four could do was stare at the now blank phone. They were like that for a good five minutes.

"Where do you think they've taken her now?" Greg asked, his voice tight.

"They'd have let her go," Sherlock said softly as he pocketed the phone. He took a step back running his hands through his hair and letting out a big breath.

"She'll need to go to the hospital," Mycroft informed them, saying something they already knew but wanting to break the silence before it inevitably happened.

"No." Sherlock shook his head firmly, "She would hate that."

"I'll look after her," John spoke up, wiping a stray tear from his face, "I have plenty of stuff at home."

"Are you sure?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows. John nodded determinedly, so the elder Holmes' nodded his agreement. But he turned to his brother, "Since when did you care about anyone?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

"Since I got myself two friends- John and Lucy." Sherlock said, trying to smile but failing as it turned into a grimace.

"Thanks," Lestrade muttered sarcastically, attempting to lighten the mood. Sherlock glared at him.

"And an... ally on the police force," He added as an afterthought, feeling the need to show the DI that he did hold some sort of liking for him. Greg smiled in surprise, but Sherlock quickly said: "That's enough emotion for one year, let's go do Anderson's work for him."

When Lucy awoke, it was still dark. She was laying on the floor in the middle of a secluded alleyway, most likely in London. Everything felt sore and stiff. She'd taken a nasty blow to the head, so she had to close her eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Tentatively, and very slowly, she stretched her aching limbs. Nothing was broken thankfully, but she's lost a bit of blood. However, the cuts had stopped bleeding a while ago, so that was a bit of luck. She wouldn't die. After a few minutes she stood up, letting the dizzy feeling fade before she started to get out of the alley. A glance at her phone in her pocket that had miraculously remained intact, told her that she had been unconscious for roughly forty minutes.

Once out on the street, she was relieved to note that she was only a few streets away from the warehouses. It was lucky she paid attention to the route the cabbie took them. So, on shaky legs, she set off to the warehouse grounds where she prayed the police were still working. It took her only a few minutes to get to the last street before the buildings, she was doing her best to hurry after all. Lucy wanted nothing more than to see the faces of her two only friends, and to go home. With a deep breath she rounded the corner.

Numerous police cars were stationed by the grounds. Mycroft's cars had gone, but there was a single black car further down the street- which probably meant that he was with the police and her flatmates. Limping over, she kept her breathing even. The young teenager refused to think of the events the previous hour had held. She refused to even consider thinking about the video. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

She almost started crying with joy when she saw Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock, John and some forensic officers outside warehouse thirteen. They hadn't yet noticed her so she continued to move towards them. The searing pain caused her to wince, but she didn't care, she just wanted her friends. Once she was close enough to hear the consulting detective arguing with someone she recognised as Anderson, she called out:

"Sherlock!" She called his name, her voice was hoarse and her tone gave the impression that she would break down any second. Their heads whipped around to look at her as she approached.

"Lucy!" They all said her name in relief as they rushed over. She felt herself collapse in the arms of John and Sherlock.

"Lucy, are you alright?" Sherlock asked, worried.

"Are you okay?" John murmured even though he knew she wasn't.

"Sherlock... John..." She could barely get out their names as the tears began falling once again. In their arms she broke down.

"Mycroft, we need to get back to 221B," Sherlock said.

"I'll go with you, my car is parked opposite," Mycroft said.

"We'll wrap up here," Lestrade told them, he turned to where Lucy was held in John's arms, "Good to see you're here." He smiled gently, unsure what else to say. Lucy managed a smile of gratitude for the kind DI officer. Mycroft nodded to Greg as he led the way to his car. After a few steps, Lucy's legs collapsed beneath her in exhaustion and from pain. Without even thinking, Sherlock caught her and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to the black vehicle.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured to her.

"It's not your fault," she mumbled tearfully.

"I should have protected you like I've been able to protect John."

"It's not your job."

"I'm your friend," Sherlock whispered, "John and I should take care of you."

"Friends shouldn't do that." Lucy disagreed.

"Family should," John joined in.

"You guys are my family," Lucy wiped away tears, "I never had any real family it seems." Her voice choked before she started sobbing.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said his brother's name as he opened the door- gesturing for him to get himself and Lucy in.

Once safely in the car, John began looking at her wounds. But much to Sherlock's shock, he got a text. With a fire in his eyes that he had never felt before, he read the words on the screen:

I enjoyed that. Better catch the killer though, they might strike again. Xx –JM

Why are you doing this? –SH

I like to watch people break –JM

Tomorrow, I suggest you check the warehouses thoroughly, Lucy might find a little treasure she likes xx –JM

Sherlock glared at his phone as though his look alone with kill Moriarty. But for now he would have to play along with his game, and attempt to avoid hurting Lucy even further.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's note- Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story! Please leave a little review as it really does make my day. Over four thousand views by the way! **

**Warnings for swearing.**

**I'm off to my dad's today so this will unfortunately be the last chapter I write for around nine days. But I'll do another ASAP. I'm really sorry, I'm kinda sad I can't update as I really am enjoying myself writing this.**

**Disclaimer- Moffat says I can't own Sherlock. Well he doesn't, but let's blame him anyway. I own nada.**

Chapter 15

Detective Inspector Lestrade let out a breath of air and ran his right hand through his thick hair. He watched as Lucy's knees collapsed, and looked on with surprise as Sherlock caught her and carried her back to the awaiting car. It had been a rough night for both John and Sherlock, and in all his years of knowing the consulting three year old he had never known him to get so upset like that. Yeah he acted like a child sometimes and spouted all this – 'I'm a sociopath,'- stuff; but from tonight, Greg saw the true human emotions come out of him. The inspector half smiled. A couple of vibrations from his pocket alerted him to the fact that he had just received a text message. Wondering who it could possibly be, he withdrew his phone and read the text:

You need to thoroughly search ALL the warehouses, and I mean thoroughly –SH

Greg frowned, why did Sherlock always have to be so mysterious? But he replied anyways:

We will do, but only if you tell me why –GL

I just had a text from Moriarty. He said that tomorrow we should check the warehouses thoroughly because 'Lucy might find a little treasure she likes.' Whatever it is should already be there now. –SH

Any reason why you don't want to do it yourself? –GL

I don't want Lucy to get hurt even further, knowing Moriarty this 'treasure' won't be a chest full of happiness. And she needs me and John to be with her. She could hurt herself badly after what's happened tonight. –SH

Greg was surprised with how honest he was being. It must be Lucy bringing out the normal side in him. But at the mention of the last part, Lestrade frowned slightly, worried for the troubled teenager's safety.

We will wrap up the search tonight and start looking in the morning... Do you think she'll be alright? –GL

I don't know. –SH

Greg sighed as he put his phone away, his officers that were patrolling the river had already gone back- so he walked over to his group of policemen who had worked at the warehouses and told them that they were wrapping it up for the night. Looks like it would be fun and games in the morning, he thought sarcastically to himself.

Mycroft didn't say anything on the trip back to Baker Street. He didn't need to. He knew the severity of what had happened of course, but an overwhelming speech from him really wasn't on the cards tonight... or any night. It wasn't his brother's fault it had happened or John's for that matter. They'd been careful even by Sherlock's standards. On the ride back, Mycroft sat back in his seat, glancing at the wing mirror to look at the people in the back of the car. John had looked her over, and had determined that she would need stitches in the cuts Moran had made; not many though, just a few. Sherlock had also shed his Belstaff coat and had helped Lucy into it once John had finished looking at her. It was massive on the girl, but it did the job of keeping her warm and hiding the remains of her top. Sherlock didn't seem to mind much; in fact he seemed quite proud of himself that he sacrificed his beloved coat for her.

Once they arrived at Baker Street, John helped Lucy out of the car and went inside, helping her up the stairs. Since Mycroft wanted a word with Sherlock, John decided that he would start stitching and treating Lucy's arm. Sherlock looked at Mycroft as his brother joined him in the back of the car, the older Holmes' instructed the driver to just drive around- nowhere in particular- for a bit.

"What do you want?" Sherlock huffed, but his face softened just slightly, "Thanks by the way." Mycroft nodded in mildly surprised acknowledgement of his brother's gratitude.

"I wanted to tell you that it would probably be best if Lucy were to not go to any more crime scenes related to this case." Mycroft said, looking at his brother seriously.

"Why?"

"Because Sherlock, it may not be very good for her health." He sighed, "She self harms, tonight is going to affect her for a long time in a very bad way. The video he showed her was meant to hurt her emotionally. She'll easily forget the physical pain, but that's mainly because the emotional pain is so great- it could very easily take over her."

"What if she wants to go? What if she wants to help? Because this involves her, she should have a right to this." Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock," Mycroft started, trying to find the words to make his brother understand, "Hasn't she already been through enough? She's just found out all her parents told her was a lie. She never had any true family. If this carries on the way it is, her emotional state is going to get worse. That will mean her self harming will get worse. It is for her own good. Leave John to look after her if you go to a crime scene maybe, but you have to think about what is best for her."

"Why would I have to do that?" Sherlock snapped.

"You need to look after her. She's living under yours and John's roof, you have a responsibility."

"No I don't." Sherlock looked confused.

"While you may not be a legal guardian, you care enough to look after her Sherlock." Mycroft told him. There was a silence in which Mycroft knew his brother understood.

"Fine," Sherlock muttered, but then he looked thoughtful, "What about that thing? You know social services? Won't they realise she has no parents?"

"I can bend things Sherlock," Mycroft smirked, "You know that. Neither you or John will have any trouble of the sort." The car started slowing down before coming to a standstill outside 221B Baker Street.

"Thanks I guess," Sherlock said neutrally.

"Take care, of her and yourself."

Sherlock glanced at his watch as he entered the building; he and Mycroft had been driving around for around twenty minutes- time flies. Sherlock scaled the stairs and walked into the front room. John was sat on the sofa, by the looks of it he had just finished tending to Lucy's arms and they were now chatting quietly.

"Hi," John greeted as he saw his friend enter the room. The consulting detective launched himself onto his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. "What did Mycroft want?"

"Nothing," Sherlock lied, "Just wanted to say something on some past matters."

"It's late," John said to Lucy, "You should go to bed; you look like you need it." She just nodded and got up to go get changed and ready for bed. Once she was out of earshot, John turned to Sherlock again.

"What did Mycroft really say?" He asked knowingly. Sherlock glanced at him before shifting to face him properly. He briefly gave an account of their conversation. John seemed to be contemplating what had been said throughout, but in the end he nodded. "I agree with Mycroft to be honest," he said.

"Really?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"He does have a point Sherlock," John said gently.

"I know," The consulting detective admitted, "But how will this work? She has a right to know what is going on."

"Then you can do all the investigating, and tell her about it. Maybe take pictures if there are any new bodies, so that she can give her own theories... I don't know." John suggested, "Just things that mean she won't get badly affected like tonight. We're supposed to keep her out of danger, for the rest of this case... I think we need to do that."

"What will she do when I'm off investigating?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll be more than happy to look after her," John said, "We can't leave her on her own for too long, not at the moment. You'll just have to survive without me." He grinned.

"Okay," The dark haired man leaned forward in his chair, "Let's not say anything though." John nodded in agreement, both falling quiet until Lucy returned.

She had taken longer than usual, both flatmates noted, and they also noticed how she kept her hands occupied. Her hands would clench and unclench- or her fingers would tap an irregular pattern on her leg. It was something to attempt to keep herself from resulting to her addiction. Sherlock knew the signs.

"I'll stay with you again tonight," Sherlock said.

"No." Lucy firmly disagreed, not making eye contact.

"Lucy..." John started, but she interrupted.

"No, I don't need constant supervision. I lived on the streets on my own for several months." Her voice was getting louder, "I think I can survive the night on my own."

"Lucy," John started again, he struggled to find the words but he kept them sincere and honest, "You are a danger to yourself." John kept his voice soft, "You could badly hurt yourself if you are left on your own. I can't, in good conscience, let that happen. I care."

"You don't understand," She snapped, "How the hell do you think I feel? I just found out that my parents never liked me! I found out that my dad wished I was dead! How the fuck am I supposed to cope with that?"

"Lucy calm down," John said gently- but it was no use. The teenager was now letting out all her built up anger, sadness and emotion. Which could be seen as good. Sherlock kept quiet, and just observed Lucy and John, unsure how he could help.

"How can you tell me to calm down?" She practically shouted, furiously pacing up and down, "Six months ago, my parents died- at least then I thought they loved me, I could live with that. I lived on the fucking streets, too scared to go to social services. Then I get fucking kidnapped, beaten, cut open by a stranger. And then I watch a video showing and telling me that my parents hated me and that they wished I was dead because I hindered their criminal prospects." Tears were flowing down her cheeks, but she didn't stop, "And now, I apparently need constant supervision, even while I sleep- just in case I cut myself. Bullshit. You can't just take that away from me! I need it! You don't understand! I can't cope without it! And you're trying to take away the one thing that could keep me sane. It's fucking bullshit!" At this she turned on her heel, and in her anger, violently punched the wall. John and Sherlock had jumped up by now, worried for Lucy. Just after she punched the wall, John had brought his arms around her and pulled her back to stop her from hitting the building more. "Get off of me." She cried. But being a strong ex army doctor, John dragged the struggling teenager back and pushed her gently onto the sofa.

"Lucy, calm down." He repeated. He was glad she had let out her emotions, but punching the wall really wasn't a good thing. John didn't know what to say, he hadn't any words of comfort. He couldn't say 'it will be alright' because it wouldn't. And deep down he knew she was right about the self harm, it was her coping method, and he was taking it away. But he couldn't let her do it, knowing how badly she could hurt herself. Glancing at the hand she hit the wall with, he noted that it was red and it was bleeding very slightly- but it would stop very soon. He knew she would get even angrier if he were to try and treat it- so he didn't say anything. Instead, Sherlock spoke up:

"Come on, let's get you to bed." He moved towards the door, looking at them.

"You aren't staying with me," She told him.

"Fine." He shrugged. Sherlock signalled for both his friends to follow, as he was getting tired of waiting.

Lucy got into bed, ignoring the two men in her room. The dark haired man sat on the edge of the bed, debating what to say.

"If you want to sleep on your own, then fine," he said in his deep voice gently, "But by doing so John's trusting you to tell him if you need medical attention." He tried to find a good way to phrase it but it came out wrong. Luckily John spoke up:

"I understand where you were coming from with what you said earlier, and perhaps it was wrong of me to want you to not do it. But it's understandable why I wouldn't." He sighed, "I just care too much I guess."

"It's fine," the teenager mumbled, now much calmer than before. "Sorry I punched the wall."

"I'm sure the wall won't hold a grudge," Sherlock said, earning a snicker from his flatmates.

"Anyway, goodnight Lucy," John said.

"Goodnight John, night Sherlock," she said as they left the room. Sherlock looked back at her and gave her a small smile before walking out.

Lucy waited until they left before getting out her blade and tissues from her hiding place. She set it down in front of her, rolling up her sleeves as she would do. She knew the routine well. But after she rolled up her sleeves, she found herself just staring at the white tissues and the silver glint of the razor blade. And for the first time in a while, she hesitated. For several minutes she found herself just staring at the objects in front of her. Unsure where this uncertainty came from, she sighed and ran her hands through her soft hair. Maybe it was because she didn't want to let John down. She wasn't sure at all. Looking at the blade with a frown, she picked it up and felt it in her hands. Holding it, she dragged it very lightly across her arm once, twice... five times. But she put it down again and placed everything back in its hiding place. Her arm had five scratches on it. None of them bled. It was strange; she hadn't just done mere scratches in ages. She sighed again as she settled down to go to sleep for what little remained of the night.

Sherlock saw how tense John was as he set about making himself and Sherlock a cup of tea.

"You're worried," Sherlock observed.

"I know," John grumbled, "Can't blame me can you?"

"She'll be fine."

"How would you know?" John raised an eyebrow, "Enlighten me."

"Well it's to do with the psychological thing I said. We pretty much said that she could do... it... if she really wanted to because we understand that she may need to. By showing how much we trust her, she may want to not disappoint even more than usual so she will be less likely to hurt herself as badly, so that way she wouldn't alert us to the fact that she had done it." Sherlock explained, "But then again, I'll know if she had either way."

"Uh right, that's... interesting." John processed this information, having heard that sort of thing being done before, "How would you know if she had?" At this, Sherlock just raised his eyebrows and with a smug smile he said:

"Because I'm Sherlock Holmes."


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's note- Thank you so much for all the reviews! They really mean a lot to me. I was at my dad's for ages which is why I haven't updated, but I'm back now and am hoping to be able to update more again. Please review if you like it!**

**Oh, and to the recent reviewer- Green Day Fan, my most used twitter is SherlockSavedMe so feel free to follow if anyone wants to!**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing according to my Fan Fiction contract, the only thing I own is Lucy and the storyline. **

Chapter 16

The sun was already shining through the gaps in the drawn curtains, basking Lucy's room in shades of yellow by the time she woke up. A quick glance at her watch told her that it was eight in the morning. Knowing the it would be pointless to try and go back to sleep, she decided to get into the ensuite shower- she had only managed to have a wash last night and was currently feeling dirty.

The hot needles of water rained down her beaten body. Purplish bruises had already formed across her legs and arms, indicating the severity of the beating she had been subjected to the previous night. In all honesty, she didn't feel rubbish about being beaten; the thing, however, that really got to her was that bloody video. Closing her eyes, she let a couple of tears fall. Just as she turned off the shower there was a knock on the door. "Shit." She gasped, jumping at the sudden and rather unexpected sound.

"You all right Lucy?" John's voice sounded.

"I'm fine," she said incredulously, "Why are you asking, go away."

"Just checking," he mumbled, "I was worried when you weren't in your bed."

"John, please, I'm fine okay, now please leave so I can get changed in peace." Lucy almost started laughing. Although his concern was annoying, it was rather endearing.

"Oh, um, yeah, sorry," he muttered as he walked off. Lucy chuckled to herself as she got out of the shower and changed into some black skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a long sleeved top underneath.

But suddenly she gasped to herself, "That's where I've seen him before." She murmured to herself. She had recognised his face last night, when he kidnapped her, when he beat her. Although she hadn't known him, she had seen that face before. Sebastian Moran.

Sherlock looked up at John with a raised eyebrow as the doctor came out of Lucy's bedroom.

"You could have told me she was in the shower." He grumbled as he sat in his chair.

"It wasn't a hard deduction," Sherlock said. John just ignored him. Bored of sitting down for so long, the consulting detective jumped up and went over to his desk. So far he had a picture of each of the two victims and a picture of the bodies in the warehouse, and a picture of the blood on the wall in the house. They were now looking at a murder, assault and kidnapping. He knew it was in mocking of Lucy- but there was something that had been bugging him for a while. How would the killer have known from the start that Lucy was going to be with Sherlock and John? He had a video of her parent's saying how they hated her for Christ sake! The killer would have had to set that up six months ago before her parents died. What are the chances that Lucy would end up living with them?

"Sherlock," Lucy's voice startled him out of his musings. He glared at her; he never liked being interrupted. But a glance at her face told him that she had something important to tell him.

"What is it?" He said, now interested as he watched her sit on the sofa.

"Last night, I didn't realise at the time," she started, running a hand through her soft dark hair, "But I recognised him. I recognised the kidnapper."

"Who? Jim Moriarty?" John frowned confused.

"No, I knew Moriarty before anyway but that's not who I'm talking about." She shook her head and looked at their inquisitive faces, "Sebastian Moran."

"You recognised him?" Sherlock asked, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, I recognised his face."

"Where from?" Sherlock had a half smile on his face. If her answer was what he thought it would be, then all of his recent musing question will have been answered.

"John, the day I came into the surgery with a cut on my stomach and bruises etcetera you remember right?"

"Yeah..." John was still clueless.

"I told you it was probably just some street attack- you know, because they happen." She took a breath and saw Sherlock's excited face, "At the time I didn't know him, but now I do. That man who attacked me, was Sebastian Moran." Sherlock looked like Christmas, his birthday and Easter had all come at once.

"And where were you attacked? How far from the surgery?" The detective queried.

"Only a street away." Lucy replied.

"Oh that's brilliant, that really is brilliant." Sherlock jumped up with glee.

"Are you going to explain why it's so brilliant?" John muttered.

"Haven't you ever wondered why Lucy just so happens to be involved with my most recent case and has just moved in with us? Weird isn't it?" Sherlock grinned as he explained, "Everything has been planned, and this whole murder has been planned. It started six months ago. Moriarty had to get that video while her parents were still alive, so once he got that he could use it to hurt Lucy. Then, her parents are mysteriously murdered. Maybe Moriarty is angry at how Lucy supposedly 'got in the way' of her parents doing 'great things' and in effect, making them steal that money from him. Either way, he must have known she would take that video badly which is why he got it. After her parents are murdered she lives on the streets for months, on her own. She has money, obviously, but isn't living with anyone else which brings Seb in. On the day of the first murder, a cut to the wrist and neck, Lucy is suddenly attacked by a stranger. The stranger is later revealed to be Sebastian. Now what does that tell us? It tells us that the murderer always planned to have her living with us. Seb attacked Lucy only a street away from John's workplace- a doctor's surgery. So obviously she would go there or she would risk getting infection, because he had shocked her and hurt her. Coincidentally John, you were at work at that time- so the killer must have known you would be at work. So obviously, being the only doctor at the surgery at that time Lucy would have to see you. Now, we all know how caring you are, so you wouldn't let her live on the streets would you? No, your first thought was social services, but upon seeing how anxious Lucy was and how shaken up she was, you though it would be better to take her back home for a while. Then obviously, you wanted to see how long she could stay as it all depended on me and I wasn't bothered, so she could live with us. Mycroft told me yesterday that social services would cause us no bother- which means that she can live with us in peace. Obviously if she's living with me she would come to crime scenes, and what happens to be my latest case? The one that was set up all those months ago to taunt her." Sherlock stopped and took a breath, looking at the shocked faces of his flatmates. He added: "There's a lot of chance work in this. But it's all played out exactly as the killer wanted."

"That was amazing," Lucy said in wonder.

"Incredible," John complimented.

"It's just little pieces of the puzzle all fitting together," Sherlock smiled. Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a text, "It's from Lestrade."

"Has he found anything?" John asked. Sherlock started reading the text aloud:

"Sherlock, we found another body in warehouse two. You need to come. And we found the 'treasure.' It was next to the body, a box full of blades. Please come." As Sherlock finished reading, he grabbed his Belstaff coat and a scarf. Knowing that Lucy shouldn't go to anymore crime scenes related to this case he said, "You two stay here, I'll tell you about it later."

"Wait, what?" Lucy frowned, "But we always go." Sherlock hesitated, unsure what to say, but he thought he may as well be honest.

"It's probably best if you don't go to any crime scenes related to this case anymore Lucy. Once we've solved this one, then you can go to as many crime scenes as you like- but it's for your own... safety."

"What a load of shit," She snapped, "I'm as involved in this case as you are Sherlock, and you're not letting me go?"

"It's to avoid things like last night." John said, "So you don't get as hurt."

"And what? John's going to stay here and babysit me?" Lucy was now angry and her voice was rising again.

"In short yes, he's here to look after you, I'll tell you about the stuff I find later and take pictures," Sherlock said. If he wasn't allowed to go to a crime scene, he would react in the same way, so he was trying to compromise.

"This is all bullshit," Lucy said, "Do what you fucking like Sherlock, it's not as if you really care anyway." She refused to look him in the eye as she stormed out of the room to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. A few minutes later she heard the front door shut, signalling that the consulting detective had left the building. Not a moment later she heard a gentle knock on her door as John entered her room.

"What do you want?" She grumbled as he sat down on her bed.

"What you said to Sherlock wasn't very nice," John said gently. Lucy rolled over and sat up.

"It's not like he understands anyway."

"He told me that if he wasn't allowed on a crime scene, he would react similarly," John told her.

"And?" Lucy muttered.

"He does care about you," John said softly, "He cares enough to not let you get hurt by this anymore."

"No he doesn't."

"Lucy, Sherlock isn't an... emotional sort of person. He doesn't care about people easily. The only people he probably cares about is me, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft- although he'll never admit it, maybe Molly and maybe Lestrade. And now he cares about you. I don't think any of us have shown as much emotion from him as we have went you were in danger. He was so worried when you got kidnapped, I almost thought he was going to cry. I've never seen him care so much. And what you said probably hurt him. He was trying to be nice, saying that he would take pictures and stuff for you to see."

"Did he really get upset?" Lucy frowned.

"Yeah, and so did I."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that to Sherlock but I'm still angry."

"I know, but it's only for this case. But it's Sherlock who you should apologise to."

"I don't need babysitting you know." Lucy said pointedly.

"And I'm not leaving you on your own."

"Fine, but... can I be on my own in my room for a bit please?"

"Of course, I'll be upstairs if you need me." John gave her a smile- which she returned before heading up the stairs to his bedroom.

Great, Lucy thought to herself. Now she felt bad. But all that aside, she was actually still pissed off. She didn't need to be babysat 24/7. All she wanted was to go outside, and take a walk on her own. John wouldn't let her though. Jumping up, she put her shoes on and started pacing. Well technically she could sneak out. John was upstairs so she could probably get to the front door and outside with ease, just as long as she made as little noise as possible.

With a smile on her face, she decided to just sneak out. She hadn't been properly alone in ages, and was rather missing it. She grabbed the keys to the flat and her wallet before tip toeing across her room. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for signs of movement, John had already gone upstairs so she opened the door and stepped out. Moving across the landing, she barely missed the floorboard that creaks as she got onto the first step. After a few steps, she stood still and listened, it was all quiet so she carried down. Holding the banister for support, Lucy dodged the creaky step and made the rest of the way down quickly. She paused, still silence. God, John was going to kill her, but right now she really couldn't care less. The young teenager opened the front door, wincing as it creaked. Stepping out into the fresh, London air, she quietly shut the door behind her. Wondering if John's room was near a window, she immediately started off walking at a quick pace to the park.

It was a typical busy day in London, but it was perfect to Lucy. Now she had some of the freedom she wanted, and she loved it. Of course, deep down, she understood why John was being so... caring and stuff. He didn't want her to get hurt. But that didn't mean she couldn't find it irritating. She didn't know how long she had been walking for, and quite frankly she didn't care either. The teenager was just enjoying being outside, on her own, in the fresh air. Lucy had no real destination in mind; she had walked through the park ages ago and was no meandering down the busy streets of London. Even though she didn't know where she was, she wouldn't say she was lost. After all, the money she had in her wallet was more than enough to get her back to Baker Street. No, she didn't care. She would just enjoy the time she had.

On the corner of the pavement she had been walking down, a Starbucks shop looked invitingly at her. Getting out some money she walked in and ordered a café latte to go. It seemed like ages since she had Starbucks coffee, and each sip of the milky delight was perfect. She almost laughed to herself; it really was the little things that made her happy. Just a few hours out to not have to worry about anything, to not have to think about the cuts on her body and the stories behind them. It was what she had needed. Lucy slowed her pace down as she got her phone out of her pocket, almost choking on her coffee when she saw how many missed calls she had.

17 missed calls. 5 voice messages. All of which were from John.

Yeah, she was in deep shit. Putting the phone to her ear, she listened to the first message:

"Lucy, where are you? You idiot, you haven't even left a note. You better call me back as soon as you get this." He sounded rather pissed off. Then she listened to the second message:

"Lucy, I swear to God if you don't call back soon I'm going to get the whole of the police force, and the secret service to come and find you." She bit back a laugh and listened to the third:

"Oh God Lucy, look, I'm sorry. Please come back, or call me, or something. I'm worried." He was no longer sounding angry thank god. She pressed play for the fourth message:

"I'm sorry if I've done something. Maybe I was too harsh? I didn't mean to, I don't know. But please just... please. I need to know you're safe. I'm so worried... I've called Sherlock and told him that I don't know where you are and he's worried too. He's coming home shortly. Lucy, please tell me you're okay." The young girl sighed, she felt really bad for not telling John, but nonetheless she listened to the final message and was surprised to hear Sherlock's voice instead of John's:

"Lucy, please call us when you get this. I'm worried. I know what I said wasn't fair, but it's only because I... care. You're probably really angry with us both. I'm... sorry. Just please call one of us." She put her phone away and continued walking with a sigh. She'd had her fun, and although she was angry with them, she felt awful for making them worry so much. Lucy stopped walking and looked at her phone again, debating whether or not to call them when a sleek black car pulled up on the curb beside her.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," she said incredulously to herself. Of course Mycroft would have some surveillance on her, she remembered seeing a black car just before she went into the park- but after that she had lost it. Lucy stared at the car, not sure whether or no she should get in. She could always make a run for it, but that wouldn't do much good. Sighing as the door opened for her, she got into the car, knowing it would be better if she did as she was supposed to.

"Good afternoon Lucy," Lucy shut the car door and turned in surprise to see Mycroft sitting in the back with her.

"Good afternoon Mycroft." She greeted.

"I'm so glad you did decide to get into the car, makes things a whole lot easier."

"How long have you been following me?"

"Well, my cars followed you to the park, I'm not sure what exit you took, but we lost you after that, not that we were concerned at that time, just curious as to where you were heading," he didn't look pleased but he continued anyway, "A couple of hours later I get a call from my brother saying you are missing and he's worried, so I get my people to check the security in the general area, and a while later we find you just before you went into Starbucks. I was in the area and came to pick you up."

"How nice of you," Lucy said, unsure whether or not it came out sarcastically. Mycroft just raised his eyebrows and got his mobile phone out. He tapped for a moment before putting the phone to his ear:

"Yes, we found her. I have her in the car now." There was a pause, "Yes, she's fine. We're on our way now." He hung up.

"That was a short conversation," Lucy commented.

"I thought it would be best to inform my brother of your safety." Mycroft muttered, "Now I have to ask, why were you wandering the streets without John or Sherlock's knowledge?"

"They wouldn't have let me out on my own anyway," She told him, "I just needed some time to myself, on my own properly." She sighed but decided to continue: "It's all been a bit much. And then I'm told I shouldn't go to crime scenes related to this case and that's a bit of a blow, especially when I'm just as involved as Sherlock. I just needed to clear my head, get out, and have time on my own for a bit."

"Understandable I suppose, although you've caused John to almost break down with worry."

"No I haven't. Don't exaggerate," Lucy raised one of her eyebrows, "I don't need him babysitting me Mycroft. I lived on the streets for six months, and not much bad happened to me. Yeah, I was kidnapped, but I need time on my own, I needed to get out." She took a breath, "Maybe I didn't go the right way about it, but you have no idea how much it helped."

"Very well Lucy," Mycroft said, looking at her. She let out a breath as the car rolled up to park outside 221B Baker Street.

"How angry are they with me?" Lucy asked, a little nervously to the elder Holmes' brother.

"They're not angry Lucy. Just worried. There's probably a hint of upset that could be perceived as anger, but they won't show it." Mycroft smiled, "I'm going in with you. Shall we?"

"Okay then," Lucy said as they both got out of the car.

Lucy unlocked the door to the flat and climbed the stairs with Mycroft not far behind. She was nervous now at what they'd say but she tried to brush her fear aside as she entered the living room.

Sherlock and John both jumped up with relief as the teenager walked in. The worry and concern on their face showed through, although Sherlock managed to hide it almost straight away.

"Thank God you're alright," John said, relief obvious in his voice as he stepped forward to give Lucy a big hug.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Lucy said as he let her go, "I really didn't mean to. I just... needed time on my own to clear my head and I knew you probably wouldn't let me out on my own."

"I'm just glad you're okay." John smiled, "Hello Mycroft." Mycroft nodded in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry if what I said upset you Lucy," Sherlock said quietly.

"Its fine Sherlock, yeah I'm angry about it, but it's not your fault." Lucy managed a smile at him. But she stepped forward and gave him a hug too. He stiffened at first, but relaxed into the hug and returned it warmly.

"Well isn't this lovely," Mycroft spoke up, still standing in the doorway.

"Oh, I have some stuff to tell you about what they found in warehouse two. There's been another murder," Sherlock suddenly said happily once he and Lucy broke apart.

"Another murder?" Lucy looked surprised.

"And this one's different," Sherlock looked excited.

"How?"

"This one was a self harmer."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note- Please leave a little review if you liked it, it helps me out a lot and gives me the motivation to keep updating. The last chapter was weird, but I think I wanted to get the message across that it really wasn't easy for her. While John and Sherlock could be perceived as overprotective guardians, it's really because they care. **

**I'm super sorry I haven't updated in ages. I'm in year 11 at school and we are getting a fair amount of homework and revision for GCSE's, it feels like I have no time. I'll do my best to update ASAP though!**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing, all credit belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the amazing Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.**

Chapter 17

Sherlock had found it to be an interesting morning so far; after all, there had been another murder. Oh brilliant! Another murder! And it's even more intriguing than the last. This was his kind of day. On arrival at warehouse two, Lestrade had taken him to the place where a female body had been dumped. Scars littered the displayed skin on her arms, cuts, old and new, mostly shallow were drawn all over her flesh in shades of red and pink. A deep cut to the dead woman's neck and wrists indicated the killing style Sherlock had come to know over the past few days. Luckily for him, the police already knew it was murder, so there would be no 'serial suicide' bullshit argument this time. But either way, the consulting detective wasn't too sure where this was leading to.

Yes of course the killer wanted to torture Lucy, make her suffer and relish in the pain it caused; but this couldn't go on forever. What was the final motive? What was this leading up to? These were the important questions. Whatever new bodies that came along wouldn't really matter anymore, they didn't hold much evidence that would lead them to the killer. Sherlock wondered how this case would end. And thinking about it made him realise that Lucy could hypothetically be in even more serious danger. If it was Lucy that the murderer wanted to torture, then surely it would end with him actually coming to hurt her? Dammit! Sherlock mused as he took a look around the crime scene. He already had an idea who the killer was, although he didn't have sufficient evidence yet. But there was no reason for Sherlock to linger around the warehouses as not much more would be going on there- it was merely an abandoned, deserted place that no-one went to which made it a convenience for the previous night.

From inside his coat pocket, he felt his mobile vibrate, he frowned when he saw John's name on the screen and immediately answered:

"What is it John?"

"Sherlock, oh shit," John's voice wavered.

"What's happened?" Sherlock frowned, "Is it Lucy?"

"Sherlock I swear, I didn't mean for it to happen, I don't even know how it happened." John babbled.

"John, tell me," Sherlock sighed, trying not to get frustrated.

"Lucy's ran off. Well I don't know what you'd call it. She's gone and she didn't tell me why, I didn't even know she had went." He sounded panicked.

"Look John calm down, try calling her. I'm on my way."

"Thanks." Sherlock hung up promptly afterwards and was just about to start towards the main road to hail a cab.

"Sherlock wait!" Gregory Lestrade called, striding towards the detective before he had the chance to leave the warehouse grounds. Sherlock stopped and swung around, meeting the DI halfway. "You almost forgot this." Greg said as he handed him a small box.

"I don't need this," Sherlock muttered.

"You haven't even had a look at it yet," Lestrade frowned. The consulting detective took a breath before removing the lid, already knowing what lay inside.

The silver glint of the metal reflected the shining sun. Sleek, smooth and sharp they lay in the box, seemingly harmless but deadly when in human touch. There were roughly thirty blades of different types all packed into the little black box; razor blades, sharpener blades... Sherlock frowned; all of them were perfectly clean and new except two.

"Two of them have been used," he observed aloud.

"What?" Greg took a closer look.

"Look closer, all of them are varying shades of silver, kept in immaculate condition right?" With a gloved hand, Sherlock carefully withdrew the two razor blades with extreme caution, being careful not to prick himself, "But these two have very faint traces of a rusty brown colour. It's not rust though. That is the distinct colour of dried blood. Most likely four months old judging by the shade." Sherlock shifted the cool metal in his palm, "Both of them have been disinfected recently, as there are odd tiny dots of this dried blood, but clearly the owner of these blades were in a rush to clean them- perhaps the craving to cut was too bad- and therefore never cleaned them properly hence the blood." There was a silence, "But these blades are owned by two different people. One I'm guessing is the woman's inside warehouse two, but the other..." Sherlock's eyes widened, "There will be another murder."

"How do you know they are two different people?" Lestrade queried.

"The blood pattern!" Sherlock said exasperated, "The woman in there didn't cut too deeply, not once, so the blood pattern on the blade will be close to the edge. But on the other blade, the traces of dried blood vary, indicating that they have cut a lot deeper. Conclusion: these two blades belong to two different people."

"And how do you know there will be another murder?" Greg crossed his arms.

"Why else would their blade be left in there?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Get a blood analysis on them, fingerprint too!" He added as he handed back the box.

"Uh right," The DI nodded as he took back the blades, "Oh Sherlock, wait, how's Lucy?" Sherlock Holmes hesitated, suddenly remembering that he needed to get back to John to find Lucy.

"Not good," he replied honestly, "I don't really know what to do. Just before you came I received a call from John informing me she'd gone out the house without his knowledge, he's worried as he has no idea where she could have gone." He bit his lip, "Anything could happen, especially considering her vulnerability to this case. I never know what to do with her."

"Maybe she needed some breathing space," Lestrade suggested.

"Look, I don't know, I'm not very good with this stuff." Sherlock sounded annoyed with himself.

"You don't have to be Sherlock, you care, and that's more than enough. You may not know what to say to her, but sometimes just doing a kind gesture is better." Greg smiled as he could see the cogs whirring in the detective's mind as he processed this.

"Uh, thanks," Sherlock said, surprising the DI, "But I really need to get going."

"Its fine Sherlock just let us know if you find anything else."

Back to when Sherlock was relieved when he knew Lucy was safe, he had ended up showing her the body much to her delight. He knew he had to at least try his best to keep her involved, as he had a feeling that she would get involved regardless. There weren't really any theories to discuss, there wasn't any evidence to lead them either way as the only thing they knew was that it was a mockery of the young teenager. Mycroft had stayed for a bit, requesting his brother's time for just a minute.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea," he admitted as he twiddled his umbrella.

"Your heart was in the right place," Sherlock muttered, Mycroft raised an eyebrow, at this the younger brother said: "Oh don't pretend you don't like her Mycroft."

"I care about her is all." The elder Holmes' gave a smile, "I had a sort of duty to look after her, especially if she lives with you."

"Hilarious."

"I would suggest carrying on with not letting her to crime scenes on this particular case, but it's probably best to ensure you know where she is at all times."

"Fine."

"I best be off brother, I'm sure we will see each other soon." Mycroft bid goodbye to John and Lucy before he departed, umbrella in hand.

A silence descended on the flat as Sherlock went off to do an experiment involving ears in the breadbin. John and Lucy sat on the sofa, watching crap TV that neither was really interested in. John awkwardly got up to make everyone a cup of tea, leaving Lucy playing on her phone. It was almost worrying how calm John was being about everything, the young teenager was expecting him to be angry, shouting, but no, his calmness seemed to be far more worrying than anger. Her phone's LED light flashed, silently announcing the arrival of a text message.

Lucy frowned as she looked at it; the message was from an unknown, blocked number and had no signature or gave any indication on who may have sent it. Her blood seemed to run cold and her face visibly paled as she read the text:

Honey, I see how much you enjoyed your little wander today. How about slipping out again at twelve o'clock and meeting me in Regent's Park in that little secluded spot that I saw you walk through?

Looking forward to seeing you sexy. X

P.S don't think about telling your little friends either.

Lucy took a deep breath and put her phone back into her pocket just in time before John placed the cup of tea in front of her. However he hesitated, and looked at her with a frown.

"Are you okay? You seem awfully pale." The doctor frowned as he took her chin in his hand, feeling her forehead.

"I'm fine." Her voice was shaky.

"Lucy..." John said with a concerned frown.

"Honestly John, I'm fine, I think it's just the previous few events catching up on me." She lied.

"Okay, tell me if you need anything," He smiled before sitting down.

Sherlock was watching her with piercing but gentle eyes, unsure whether or not she was telling the whole truth. The teenager caught his eye and gave a small smile as he returned to his experiment.

So tomorrow at twelve... who knew what awaited her.


End file.
